Inviolate
by Concolor44
Summary: A charming villain. An insane, super-powered crime boss. A group of Soviet supers asking for help. And who's trying to start a nuclear war? That's a lot for the Incredibles to juggle, especially with Violet gone. Violet/OC
1. Chapter 1 Engine

Good Evening, All -

This story, _Inviolate_, will be the third one I post to FF. It is complete. I finished it in 2006, printed off a few hardcopies (bound) for friends, and it has basically languished ever since. My goal, if you want to give such a slight velleity that term, was to send hardcopies to Brad Bird and Sarah Vowell as a (very) small 'Thanks' for the (ahem) incredible job they did with the movie. That never panned out. Apparently you can't send unsolicited manuscripts, EVEN if it is being done merely as a gift, and EVEN if you don't expect any further contact with the celebrity in question. I was informed that I would need to hire an agent, put the story in galley-proof format, and let the agent 'pitch' it.

What, is this baseball or publishing? Geez.

So I didn't hire an agent and Mr. Bird has no idea that I exist. I'm okay with that.

As I noted, this story is complete. However, I will be posting it one chapter at a time, every day or two, because I'm an Evil Bastard ™ ... and I like to give readers the opportunity to speculate on what may or may not happen. So it'll be a couple of months before the Epilogue hits FF.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The supers known as the Incredibles (Bob Parr, Helen Parr, Violet Parr, Dashiell Parr, Jack-Jack Parr), the NSA, Rick Dicker, Syndrome, and all other references to the Disney/Pixar movie **_The Incredibles _**are copyright by and the sole property of Disney/Pixar. This story (_Inviolate_) has no connection to Disney/Pixar or Brad Bird or any of the (awesome) creative team that conceived them. The plot line for _Inviolate _and all other incidental characters are the property of Clint McInnes (Concolor44) and are copyrighted as such. These characters, and this story, may not be reproduced in any form without the written (WRITTEN!) consent of the author. As it goes with Disney, so it goes down here on Earth.

And now, without further obfuscation on my part,

_**INVIOLATE**_

Prologue

Since the events documented by the National Supers Agency ca. 1975 concerning the repatriation of supers into North American society, and especially since the activation of the team known as "The Incredibles", or "Team Incredible", the cultural bias against supers had undergone a sea-change. Initially, the public at large was wary of a return to the era of free-wheeling super-battles in our major cities – and the concomitant incidence of extreme property damage – but by 1980 every opinion poll conducted showed an overall high level of confidence in those supers who had decided to rejoin the NSA. As a result, the various pieces of legislation that had been passed banning their activities were repealed or overturned, and the supers were able to operate as freely as any other citizens, provided they had signed on to the Agency.

Of course, those supers who disdained working with the government were on their own from the standpoint of liability, and it wasn't very long before the few holdouts either came on board or retired from full-time hero work for good. On the other hand, that small minority of the "normal" populace who still deemed the supers a threat became ever more vocal, and ever more willing to forego proper channels in their fight to keep them out of the public square.

Nevertheless, with the NSA taking a larger role in directing the missions of the supers, they realized a high degree of success through the program. Better still, the supers stayed busy enough to keep even the most enthusiastic of them satisfied.

Hollywood once again started producing films that featured supers; and though hardly ever was a super in a starring role, they were almost uniformly depicted favorably. A few of them landed endorsement contracts, some were featured on late-night talk shows, and one enterprising super even got her own weekly variety show for a while. Gradually, the country settled into an easy routine. Major airline or shipping disasters became a thing of the past. Violent crime statistics dropped significantly, and stayed low. Over time, the prison population declined to less than two-thirds of where it had stood in the late 1960's, court backlogs were rare, and the continent enjoyed a period of brisk prosperity.

The situations in other parts of the world, however, varied widely. In a few countries, most notably certain of those under totalitarian or dictatorial rule, supers were outlawed completely, and executed (if possible) when discovered. At the other end of the scale, in countries such as Australia, Brazil, India, and South Africa, the supers never fell from grace in the first place, and enjoyed something of a celebrity status with the rest of the inhabitants. The balance of the planet fell between these extremes, from uneasy to complacent.

The North American Union consists of The Canadian General Commonwealth, The United States of America, and the Republic of Mexico. They had merged shortly after World War II into a coalition government. The military arms of all three nations were combined, updated and streamlined, and currently represent one of the two most powerful such forces on Earth. The other is the People's Army of the Union of Soviet States.

The Union, or as they sometimes prefer to be called, the Soviet, a group of Asian and Eastern European nation-states that fall under the general hegemony of the Republic of Russia, came into being in the second and third decades of the century, largely due to the efforts of Vladimir I. Lenin, a super with the power of mass persuasion and a powerful ego to match. However, he managed to topple the monarchy, form the vast, new government and get most of the populace to accept it without undue bloodshed, so as far as coups go it was fairly benign.

The central government of the USS is an autocratic one, and private property under this regime is a privilege typically reserved for those in power. The State owns the vast majority of the land and all electrical power generation facilities, and controls the media, the education establishment, health-care, the distribution of commodities … in short, most of what the people need to get along. This program of centralization could have worked a lot better than it did. The frequent shortages gave rise to a large and well-organized black market, which, in turn, led to the proliferation of criminal syndicates to control it. The local crime syndicate is the de facto ruling body in many of the member States, and some of them do a surprisingly good job of it. It must be said, though, that most of them don't.

On two occasions (in 1939 and in 1952) there were general uprisings, resulting in the government backing down and granting greater autonomy to the member states, and greater individual rights to the citizens. In both uprisings, those behind the reform movements were supers. That did not escape the notice of those in power.

During the late 1950's the leaders of the USS came up with an arrangement with their own supers that was modeled loosely after the North American setup, with the caveat that all of them, without exception, were agents of the central government through the Soviet Bureau of Supers (Советских Супер Контора, or CCK). By 1971 the last holdout had joined, and the CCK was the government's organ of choice when a difficult task needed doing.

While relations between the NAU and the USS had never been what one could call cordial, they had a healthy respect for each other's abilities and armed forces, stayed out of each other's business (more or less) and had maintained a tacit agreement not to send their supers into the other's "personal space". However, in the mid-1980's a series of events took place that involved the supers, and that brought these two governments – and the rest of the world – to the ragged edge of total war.

. . .

. . . . .

. . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

. . . . .

. . .

Chapter One

The warehouse was an unassuming structure, no more or less noteworthy than any of the hundreds of others in this section of the city. As with all port areas of any size, San Francisco and its associated communities contained scores of districts that served as break-of-bulk points, where cryptic, rusting cargo containers might be stacked six or eight high, awaiting disposition into one or more of the wide, low buildings that stretched off into the night, past vision.

The view hardly ever changed. To those who worked here it was all quite dull; every day, every shift melted into the next, the hum-drum, monotonous coming and going of huge pallets and boxes whose contents they hardly ever examined, and cared about even less. The only time anyone ever paid any attention to one of the warehouses was when something had to go in one or something else had to come out. Otherwise, like the workers themselves they remained faceless and unknown, nothing more than background noise in the drab, dreary, repetitive life of the docks.

Understandably, there were those who saw this arrangement as an advantage; those who needed this sort of anonymity; those with something important to hide.

As it hadn't rained in quite some time, dust had accumulated around this warehouse, as it had all over the city: dust and pollen, leaves and bits of litter that blew along and collected in corners wherever they happened to be. If some very observant person had been looking in just the right place, and looking for just the right telltales, he might have noticed the dust scuffing up in a line of tiny clouds from a concertina-wire-topped fence over to the building's wall, or the thin, black wafer that seemed to bob and hover in the air a meter and a half above them. But while it was true that this particular warehouse had an inexplicably large number of armed guards patrolling it, and was better-lit than most, the shadows, and their own ignorance, kept them in the dark.

Violet paused, leaning against the side of the building and listening. She pressed her head lightly against the wall and picked up the mechanical whine of high-speed machinery and a deeper, subsonic thrum that told her what she needed to know. Touching one fingertip to the black disk, she whispered, "Mark one secure. Bogey positive." The shorthand of familiarity, built up slowly over the ten years the family had functioned as a team, rendered further explanation redundant. Not to say that any of them had grown complacent, but they were very comfortable with each other now.

Her mother's voice sounded tinny and distant in her ear, a side effect of the encryption routine. "Roger. Proceed to mark two."

Violet moved carefully along the base of the long wall, came to the rear corner and turned left into deeper shadow. About a third of the way along the back wall she came to a large enclosure. Steel-walled, and maybe eight or ten meters square, it nestled up against the main building, and was warm to the touch; to the invisible girl it couldn't have been more plainly a powerhouse if the word had been stenciled on its side. She took stock of her position, checked both sides to find the darkest corner, and knelt there, leaning against the wall. She touched the disk again and said, "Mark two positioned."

"Copy that."

Inside the warehouse, a bored guard thought he noticed a yellow flickering on the console in front of him. He sat up and looked closer, but it had stopped. He rubbed his eyes and gazed intently at the array of warning lights. It was probably nothing, but it wasn't worth his job to ignore it, just in case.

Outside, Violet waited a bit while an armed duo on patrol strolled past on an overhead walkway. Keeping an eye on the retreating figures, she extended one finger toward the powerhouse wall and concentrated. A nearly invisible line of force sprang into being, dim even in the darkness here, and ending some ten centimeters from her unseen glove. She pressed it into the solid steel, meeting no resistance to speak of, and moved it slowly in a roughly triangular path, the longest side right at ground level. When she got back to where she'd started, she let the field wink out and pressed gently on the cut section. It resisted. She waited until the two guards rounded the corner and tried again. The wall had been thicker than she'd anticipated, and it took a good shove to get it to move. Once it broke free, though, it wasn't that hard to push it into the room and off to the side. Violet was stronger than she appeared. She snaked into the room and looked around.

Sure enough, she could make out a bank of huge transformers in the gloom. Several large conduits passed through an opening in the warehouse wall, letting in what little light there was. She felt along the common wall and found a small door, locked as she shortly discovered. As the door opened in toward her, it was the work of but a moment to cut the latch off. She eased it open and peeked inside.

The light was quite bright in the building proper. A row of what looked like large, upright storage tanks of some kind stood only meters away, and blocked her view of most of the warehouse. She slipped through the door and pulled it back in place, then crept over to stand between two of the tanks. Noticing a ladder nearby, she cautiously ascended the three long flights to a narrow mezzanine, little more than a catwalk that ran along the rear of the building. The view was much better from there, and she gasped as she took in what she was seeing.

The warehouse was at least two hundred meters wide and half again that long, a single, vast open space. All the windows had been painted over, black and opaque, and from the outside it looked all but dead. Many of the truss beams overhead were fitted with cranes and hoists, and two were busy carrying large pieces of equipment from one place to another. Teams of technicians swarmed over an immense mechanical structure that occupied at least a third of the available space. Peering around keenly, she finally spotted her real objective: off to the right, on the same level as the mezzanine where she stood, was situated the master control booth. She could just make out the glow of CRT's through the windows.

She touched the disk. "Mark three located. North wall midpoint, near the roof."

"Roger. Source reallocation commencing."

This time, when the yellow indicator flashed, the guard immediately stabbed the button below it. "Gotcha!" He grabbed the transceiver from his waist, and spoke into it rapidly.

Violet crept along the mezzanine as quickly as stealth would allow, making it to the corner and about halfway down to the control room. She spotted another patrolling guard as he came up a set of stairs and headed her way, considered briefly whether to take him out now or let him pass, and decided that it was unlikely he would have to report in anywhere before things got really interesting. She glanced around briefly, noting the building's framework. The massive I-beams that supported the roof were about a meter and a half across where they met the trusses, and there was easily enough room in one to store an unconscious goon where he'd be out of sight. She looked back at the guard. He had a holstered side arm, but nothing heavier. Nodding to herself, she judged the distance and concentrated.

Two things happened simultaneously. A pair of small, dimly-glowing spheres appeared just beyond the guard; and he put a hand to his ear, started at what he heard, and went for his gun. By the time the spheres impacted on either side of his head, he had drawn his pistol. He crumpled to the steel treads, out cold, but his weapon flew out of his hand, just nicked the edge of the mezzanine, and fell the ten meters to the floor. He must have been carrying it "hot", because it discharged on contact. The report was unbelievably loud.

"Crap!" Violet touched the disk. "We're compromised! Let's get this show on the road."

On the security console, a different light came on. The guard on monitor duty jumped noticeably, punched the associated button, and rattled off another set of instructions into his communicator.

Almost every one of the techs crawling over the colossal machine was wearing hearing protection of some kind, but to a man they turned and looked over at the wall. Violet jumped over the unconscious guard, leaving him where he lay, and raced the rest of the distance to the control booth. Behind her, a high-intensity spotlight flashed onto the area she'd just vacated. Several uniformed men, armed with automatic carbines, raced to converge on the spot. At that precise moment a large bulldozer came hurtling through the wall treads-first, below and to the other side of the control booth. It mowed down a handful of guards and smashed into the side of the monstrous, humming contraption, which immediately began to spit sparks with great enthusiasm.

As the building shuddered under the impact, Violet "suited up", a force field snapping into existence right over her skin and outlining her slim form in a dim sparkle. She focused on the door, wedged a narrow field into the crack on the handle side, and then expanded it suddenly, crumpling that portal into a twisted mess. She leapt through the opening into a hail of automatic gunfire.

Inwardly she sighed. Some things never seemed to change. These guys were so predictable.

She cocked an ear and grinned as she disarmed the four men in the booth. A high-pitched whizzing sound had begun to reverberate around the building, accompanied by the odd smack, thud, crash, or cry of pain. That would be Dash, probably collecting weapons.

She caught the four gunmen in a single field, and then compressed it until they looked like a Chinese puzzle. The squished mass of men she floated off to the side as she studied the control panels laid out before her. The odd heavy thud and resounding crash distracted her, and presently she glanced up at the action in the warehouse, noting with some concern that the fight seemed to be getting pretty hot on the far side. Crouching out of sight, she eased the field down from around her head and touched the disk behind her ear. "Mom? Can you get in here yet?"

"Yes. Hang on." There was a smacking sound and a bit of static. "Be there in four … three … two …" Elastigirl's upper body popped up in front of the booth. She shot an arm over to the railing at the mezzanine and did a round-the-corner slingshot move to end up next to Violet. Squinting a little at her daughter's tenuous outline, she asked, "What have you got?"

"Nothing I can make any sense of. Take a look."

Helen studied the unmarked displays and monochromatic banks of knobs and dials. "Blast. This stuff wasn't mentioned."

"You'd think they'd at least have the courtesy to label the 'OFF' switch."

"They do not," her mother replied, "teach deportment at the International School for Mad Science." She glanced over at the glowing ball of unconscious bad guys. "You planning to leave them in there until they ferment?"

Violet grinned. "Oops." She blanked the field, and the four sprawled in an untidy heap on the floor. She looked back out into the warehouse. "How's Dad doing?"

"Great, so far. He said his back was feeling good today." Helen worked her fingers under the edge of one panel and ripped the cover off, then started poking around in the wiring. "This'll take me a minute or so, Honey. Why don't you go see what you can stir up out there?"

"Suits me." She jumped for the doorway, but no sooner had her boot touched the catwalk than the entire building shook violently. She had to grab onto the rail to keep from being pitched over. It lasted less than two seconds, but then a stubby spike at the top center of the huge machine began to glow cherry red. The ominous thrumming that had been in the background all the time stepped up in both period and volume. She stuck her head back in the room. "Mom? You do that?"

"Umm …" She had a worried look on her face. "… maybe. I may have tripped a failsafe." She pointed at a large meter prominently displayed on the wall. "Look." The meter was color-coded, fading from blue at the bottom, through green and yellow to orange. An indicator arrow that had been resting comfortably in the blue had jumped to the middle of the green band and was climbing.

"Uhboy."

"Better get going, see if you can cut it off from out there while I try …" Someone's automatic rifle knitted a line of spidery impact cracks across the glass front of the booth, and Helen ducked back down, shouting, "Get him!"

Violet saw instantly where the fire was coming from. She raised an arm in that direction and a force sphere bloomed, enveloping him. His bullets ricocheted around inside the ball _**very**_ briefly, then stopped. She let the field go, and the erstwhile gunman slumped lifelessly to the floor. She turned back to her mother. "Okay, Mom?"

"I'm good! Get going."

Violet jumped the ten meters to the floor, using a small plane of force pressed down against it to control her descent, and landed lightly. She raced off toward the far side of the machine, from whence came the fierce sounds of a small war.

Mr. Incredible had ripped the pusher blade off the Caterpillar he'd tossed through the wall, and was using it as both a shield and a flyswatter. It performed well in either capacity, but the majority of the enemy combatants that remained had holed up in a series of armored rooms along the machine's base. Dash had managed to disarm and incapacitate all of the ones who'd originally been stationed on the other side, but these had taken cover before he found them. He rounded up as many of the technicians as he could get to before they scurried off into their holes, knocked them cold, and tossed them into a dumpster near the entrance. Now he was racing around over the machine's top surface, looking for some way inside. As yet, he'd found nothing.

When Violet came shooting around the corner, propelled to a speed of better than fifty klicks by her judicious use of force planes, she took the situation in at a glance. Most of the heavy fire was coming from a bank of rooms maybe eighty meters away. They couldn't see Dash to aim at him, so her father's makeshift shield was taking the brunt of the punishment. She formed another plane and shoved it hard against the floor, launching herself in a forward arc toward the top of the machine. Once there, she dropped her invisibility and looked around for Dash, spotting his space-black-and-silver costume immediately, and calling to him. He heard her and zipped over.

"Hey, Vi, can you get through this stuff?" He tapped the heel of his boot on the obdurate metal surface on which they stood. "All I need is a way in, and those guys are toast."

"You sure of that?"

"Oh, yeah. Lamest bunch of amateurs you ever saw, popgun-wise. Three of 'em shot their own men, trying to hit me."

"Okay." She indicated their immediate surroundings. "This spot do?"

"Good as any."

She nodded, and a ring of force appeared. With no need for stealth, she had a man-sized opening done in seconds. The now-loose piece of metal fell down inside the machine with a clang. Dash followed it instantly.

Her ear-piece came to life. "Violet, the indicator's up into the yellow zone."

She touched the disk and said, "Right," and then looked up at the glowing spike. It was very obviously brighter, and its outline had become hazy with a weird distortion, something similar to the heat waves that can be seen hovering over desert roads in high summer.

The gunfire from below diminished, and in a few more seconds stopped entirely. By the time she landed next to her father, Dash had opened one of the doors in the side of the machine and come running out with an armload of weaponry. He dumped it in a pile against the wall and ran over to the other two.

Bob dropped the 'dozer blade to the floor and asked, "How's your mother doing?"

Violet shrugged and said, "Could be better. She thinks this thing's about to blow, or fire, or something."

"Well _that's_ just great." Bob's reply had a distinctly wry flavor as he shook his head and worked one shoulder around. "Guess we'd better start ripping out its innards, then."

Dash nodded agreement. "I saw some corridors leading deeper into that thing. I think I can …" His words were cut off as the ground suddenly jerked, throwing all three of them off their feet.

As they were jostled back and forth, their father said, "I don't think we have time for that now." He turned to Violet and asked, "That spiky thing must be some kind of antenna or transmitter or something. Can you get a field under it?"

"Think it'd be safe?"

"Safer than doing nothing."

She touched the disk. "Mom, I'm gonna try cutting that spike thing off from the rest of the machine."

Helen's voice clearly telegraphed the strain she was under. "Go for it. I can't think of anything better."

"Okay. You'd better get moving." She looked around at Dash. "Make sure Mom gets out. You know how stubborn she can …" But she was only addressing the space where her brother had been. She stood, turned to face the behemoth, and held her arms up, palms toward the glowing spike. The stance was not at all necessary to generate the field, but occasionally it did help her to focus.

How big to make it? How much of the thing would she have to separate in order to disrupt its function? Should she simply slice it in half? Her mouth twisted in a grimace of frustration. The ground flopping around under her didn't help her concentration one bit, and there was just so much about this threat they didn't know! Helen's source had indicated that it was some kind of earthquake-making device, and that it might represent a danger to the entire state. Considering how the ground under her was trying to teach them all how to samba, she could well believe it.

Her father stood behind her now, steadying her, his big, reassuring hands gripping her waist. She glanced back and up at him with a smile and a quick "Thanks" and then she flipped that secret switch in her head and sent a plane of force flowing toward the ominously radiating device.

The edge of the plane met the machine some four meters below the base of the – well, she couldn't help thinking of it as an antenna – and bit, sliding deeper, parting it like a glowing wire through wax. But the farther it went, the harder she had to shove. Her brow furrowed in puzzlement, then in the strain of concentration. This didn't make any sense! Normal matter of any type had been no kind of barrier to her fields in years. A granite boulder or a titanium airframe was no more difficult to slice than an equal amount of warm butter. But _something_ was certainly resisting her efforts!

She quickly began to sweat, then to pant, as her heart raced and her vision blurred with the exertion. It was like swimming through molasses with weights on each limb. Fire and ice played up and down the length of her body. She felt alternately light-headed and then heavily weighted down. Something was different about this, different and very wrong. It was as if …

Then suddenly she was through. The terrible pressure lifted, and she had passed whatever the obstacle was. She realized her father was calling her name over and over.

"Yeah … I'm okay, Dad." She shook her head. "Things really got weird for a minute there …"

"But it's still … doing whatever it was doing!"

She looked back at the machine. Sure enough, even though she knew and could feel that the transmitter, if that's what it was, had been completely separated from the base of the machine, the hazy radiation hadn't stopped. If anything, it was more pronounced.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Honey?"

"This doesn't look good."

"Now there's a news flash." He studied the scene for a few seconds, and then asked, "Can you get the whole thing in a field?"

"The whole machine? No. It's too big."

"Not the whole thing, just the part you cut off."

She nodded. "No sweat." And it was done. She adjusted the dimensions of the field to make it spherical, which severely crimped up the cut metal edges. As soon as the field closed, the quaking eased off, and in a few seconds the ground ceased its contortions entirely. And yet the antenna still glowed, still generated that hazy interference. "I dunno, Dad. It looks like we broke its contact with the ground, but it's like that thing's carrying its own power source or something. Or maybe it already got a full charge before I cut it loose."

"Can you move it?"

She concentrated on the ball and it rose a couple of meters. "Uff! Sort of. Heavy sucker! A _whole_ lot heavier than it ought to be." She licked her lips. "Not fast, and not far, but yeah, I can move it a little." She frowned in amazement. "What the heck is it made of? There is _**no way**_it ought to be that massive!"

"I was hoping we could get it out to the bay."

"Oosh! No, I don't think I've got _that_ kind of juice."

They both stared at the device, noting that the hazy waves coming from the spike were all but hiding it. They'd taken on a purplish sheen as well, and Violet could feel the pressure straining against her field. She asked, "So what do we do?"

He looked down at his daughter and frowned. "This thing is supposed to create earthquakes, right?"

"That's what we were told."

"So, logically, it would have to be able to reach the ground, don't you think?"

"Yeah. And it can't right now. But if things get _**too**_ much livelier in there, my field is gonna rupture and reaching the ground won't be a problem." She was sweating again.

"You remember those roman candles we played with last July 4th?"

"Huh?"

"I'm just thinking that maybe you can turn this thing into the world's biggest roman candle."

She looked at him in confusion for only a moment until the light dawned. Then she grinned and said, "You know, that's not a bad idea." Turning her attention to the field, she altered its shape to that of a cylinder, and extended the top up through the roof of the warehouse. Debris rained down on the machine. She wanted as much distance as possible before she pulled the cork, but this thing was pushing her to her limit.

Outside, Dash and Helen were standing in front of the van they'd come in, watching intently. They both jumped when something exploded out of the roof, and gaped at the sight of the cylinder of force. Helen called into her communicator, "What's going on in there?"

Bob had to answer for Violet. "She's trying to refocus this thing's energies away from the earth."

The cylinder grew.

Eighty meters.

Ninety meters.

Helen asked, "Do you think that'll work?"

"If it doesn't we'll find out soon enough."

A hundred.

One-ten.

One-fifteen.

One-seventeen.

The vibratory energies whirling and spinning around the inside of the tube made it look like some sort of demonic barber pole on speed. Through gritted teeth, Violet said, "That's … all … I can … do …"

Her father gave her a reassuring squeeze and shouted, "Let it go!"

The upper end of the cylinder opened, and the colossal pressure abated as the insistent waves of force shot out the top, leaping straight up to the sky. Violet sagged with relief and nearly fell, but her father caught and held her. "No more quakes yet. Keep your fingers crossed. And see if you can narrow that field down a little more."

She blinked the sweat out of her eyes and grinned at him. "No problem now, Dad. With no lid, all that stuff has somewhere to go." She quickly raised the top of the cylinder to the limit of her control, some two hundred meters in the air.

The view from outside was colorful, to say the least. The iridescent vibrations cascading along the tube of force made it fluoresce in every shade imaginable, and lit up the surrounding cityscape like a kaleidoscope. The weird stream shot out of the top of the narrow cylinder and impacted the scattered cloud cover with Technicolor gusto, spreading pastel ripples in ever-widening circles. All Dash could think of to say was, "Whoa."

The spike began to pulse rhythmically, flashing white every few seconds. Each flash would streak up the tube and burst in the clouds. All of this was clearly visible for upwards of a kilometer in every direction.

Helen asked, "What's it doing, Bob?"

"What can you see from your end?"

She described the interesting phenomena in the briefest of terms, and then insisted on knowing more from him.

"It's just pulsing. Looks … kinda like a … well, a heartbeat. Sort of."

"Mighty big heart."

"Yeah."

Violet interjected, "Dad! Something's happening!"

The pulses quickened into a continuous, ululating whine. The colors spiraled up through the spectrum, building in brilliance, racing past ultraviolet, until neither of them could bear to look at it.

"Can you hold it, Vi?"

"Yeah, I think so. It doesn't _feel_ any different from here."

"I get the feeling it's about to do whatever it was built to do."

Dash and Helen had to shield their eyes as well. The cylinder was a livid purple scar against the sky, the erstwhile cloud cover entirely gone, the rippling effect of the earthquake engine's energies spreading to every point of the compass. Sirens could be heard now, converging from several directions. People all over the city were standing outside, holding one another, watching, waiting, wondering …

There was a heavy _**CRUMP**_ within the force field, which bulged alarmingly, and Violet jerked in pain, screaming, "Daaaad!"

"What?"

She panted a couple of times and gasped out, "Hang on!"

The forces Violet had been negotiating with to that point merely constituted leakage, the bleed-off that resulted from its being inadequately shielded after it was cut loose from the master power condenser. The object they'd been thinking of as an antenna reached the point of maximum capacitance, a switch tripped, and the primary energy was finally freed. However, it did not, as its designer had intended for it to do, go to ground. It did not burrow into the nearby fault lines, liberating uncountable trillions of kilotons of stored tectonic energy in the form of killer earthquakes. It did not level every city within two thousand kilometers, did not slaughter untold myriads of people, did not significantly alter the shape of the coastline, and did not bring about the total collapse of the nation's economy.

But it did treat the people of the west coast to the most fantastic light show any of them had ever witnessed. Dash decided then that distance would be a really good idea, picked up his mother and made tracks away from ground zero at better than three hundred klicks.

The top end of the cylinder of force stretched and bucked and whipped around like a loose fire hose as the incalculable energies expended their fury against the uncomplaining sky. Violet's control over her ability was truly impressive, but this showed her what her limits were, in no uncertain terms. With a shriek of pain, she enveloped the two of them in the tightest sphere she could manage, and let the towering, shattering tube dissipate.

By that time there was hardly more than residual energy left at ground level, but it was enough to convert the rest of the giant machine to slag and reduce all the nearest buildings to their component splinters. The field containing the two supers squirted out of the area like a watermelon seed, flying better than a kilometer in just a few seconds.

They landed hard, and although Bob cushioned her as much as he could, she got the wind knocked out of her, but good. Hovering there at the edge of consciousness, her concentration shot, she couldn't hold the field together any longer, but by then it was all over anyway and with what perception she had left she realized it. The ghost of a smile playing across her lips, she surrendered to the blissful dark, resting secure in her father's arms.


	2. Chapter 2 Tar

Chapter Two

At the eastern tip of Lake Balkhash, in the Khazak Soviet Republic, there stands an immense and heavily fortified dacha. The area is barren, one might almost say desolate, as the salt deposits that extend for several kilometers from the lake shore have stunted or killed every crop that anyone ever tried to grow there. Some dozens of kilometers away, on the north shore of the Lake, the ruins of a small power plant lie rusting, the bricks, piping, and copper wires long since scavenged for other uses. Aside from the dacha, they are the only evidence that civilization had ever tried to gain a foothold in this land.

The lord and master here had built the dacha only six years earlier. It was not the occasional restful weekend that he desired, not a break in his hectic lifestyle, not any of the usual reasons that the powerful and well-placed owned these sorts of retreats. No, all he desired that this location provide him was privacy, and the opportunity to conduct his business in secret. He knew full well that the Soviet would take a very dim view of his activities, and not everyone in a position of political power could be bribed. He didn't want anyone dropping by, snooping around, prying into his business, looking over his shoulder. It was, indeed, a bit of paranoia. But in his line of work, a healthy paranoia kept one's vital fluid where it belonged.

He'd chosen the spot carefully. No regular air routes came anywhere close. The area was of little use, militarily. And not even during the height of the spice trade had any roads of any significance meandered through the land. The only ones who ever came out this way now were those who worked for, or had business with, the master. One such was on his way even now.

The master stayed inside, as he had for the last few months. There was nothing outdoors to gladden the eye, and the air was foul. He had installed filters to keep out the insistent dust that forever blew in from the shore, the dust that soon left eyes stinging and a bitter tang of salt in one's throat that no amount of coughing could help. Air-lock-type doorways led into cleansing and changing rooms, and several spas occupied various places in the rambling house. He also had a deep and secret set of rooms, stocked with supplies for years, many meters below the dacha's foundations. Just in case. And everywhere around the house and grounds, he had placed cameras and motion detectors and infrared scanners and remote-operated automatic guns. Again, just in case.

It was a _healthy_ paranoia. Really, it was. He told himself that many times each day.

So he had no need to stir himself from his austere and highly polished sanctum as the transport made its slow, slow way across the long expanse of salt shore. He watched it, and he waited. Before long it came to the entrance, and his guards let it in through the gate. He watched as it traveled up the drive and entered the garages, watched as the two occupants emerged and dusted off their clothes. They followed the signs to the cleansing rooms where they found changes of clothes waiting for them. As always, the clothing consisted of light cotton pants and tank tops, because while the master hardly ever felt comfortably warm, and kept the temperatures in his rooms at a level others considered sweltering, he realized that certain accommodations had to be made for them. And so, eventually, after the master had finished his breakfast and all traces were cleared away, they were ushered in to his presence.

The driver hung back while his passenger came forward and presented the master with an envelope, executing a short bow all the while. He did what he could to hide his nervousness: though he'd been acting in this capacity for his employer for a few years now, he never had gotten over his dislike of the man, nor did he think he ever would. His master was not the sort of man that anyone could – or should – feel comfortable with. He hoped that the master, sitting there in his heavy overcoat and fur hat, would attribute the sweat running down his face to the excessive heat in the room, and not to the prickly fear he was dealing with.

The man behind the desk took the envelope, slit it open, and pulled out the single sheet of paper. One side was covered with a maze of tiny squares in red and blue and green. He oriented it and fed it into a small device on his desk. It whirred quietly for a minute, and then the coded message came up on his monitor.

Project Vulcan offline.

All operatives lost.

All hardware destroyed.

NSA involvement suspected.

Following up to determine culprits.

Will report when have more information.

- IB

The master read through the message. One of his hands clenched into a fist, and dozens of tiny, needle-like thorns protruded from the skin around his knuckles. A dark brown, viscous substance oozed from the base of each one. With carefully casual movements, he erased the screen, pulled the message paper out of the device, inspected it for damage and proper orientation, and reinserted it. Obviously there had been a mistake the first time. That had to be it.

Shortly, the same message appeared before him. He read it through slowly, then read it through again, becoming more incredulous with each repetition.

How could such a thing have happened?

Answer: it could not. The plan was foolproof. He had spent most of the last decade identifying any and every hindrance he could imagine and methodically eliminating each one. His goal of reducing the North American Union to third-world status was all but guaranteed.

There was no possible way to stop the tectonic collapse, once begun! All his researchers, all the physicists and geologists and fluid mechanics specialists and experts in vibration had assured him of it! The machine _**must**_ have worked! It could _**not**_ have failed! It could _**not!**_

And yet, somehow, it had. He stared at the screen, bile scorching his throat.

_Project Vulcan offline._ A decade of his life, wasted. More than a third of the time he'd spent building up this organization. It was intolerable.

_All operatives lost. _How many thousands of man-years of training did that represent? He had no idea.

_All hardware destroyed._ Sixty-five billion rubles. Gone. Eliminated. He might as well have made a big pile of the money and set it on fire. At least it would have warmed him for a while.

_NSA involvement suspected._

The NSA. Again, and always, it was the supers of North America. How had they found him? Who had they broken? Where had his organization failed him?

The NSA.

How he loathed them.

They would pay, and pay dearly. _Everyone_ would pay!

His rage mounting, he slammed a fist down onto the desk, cracking the heavy hardwood. And as he looked up at his visitors, his eyes were glowing with a feral, yellow light. The passenger gasped and took a step backwards, but twin beams of pale luminescence lanced from the master's eyes to strike him mid-torso. There was a soft pop, and a light mist of ash floated to the floor. The driver shrieked and turned, but had not yet touched the door when the eldritch fire hit him in the back, and he, too, vanished.

The master sat there for quite some time, regaining control, grounding and consolidating his fury until it condensed to a white-hot point. He would, he told himself, use that anger to his advantage. Oh, how they would regret getting in his way!

What to do next? Clearly, the hated North Americans must die.

Perhaps the time for subtlety was past. Perhaps a more direct approach was needed. He sat, thinking, until the shadows outside grew very long, until hunger could no longer be easily ignored. At length, he stirred himself, typed a message into his machine, and a sheet of paper slid out from its base. He took this, folded it, and placed it in another envelope. Then he called a servant and informed him that he had need of a new messenger.


	3. Chapter 3 Debriefing

Chapter Three

"_Seems like this corridor gets longer every time I come in for a debriefing,"_ Bob thought as he walked down the hallway toward the conference room. The plush pile of the carpet deadened his footfalls, and the deeply textured fabric surfacing the walls reflected little sound. It was almost creepy how quiet everything seemed. In a self-congratulatory gesture, the NSA had moved to this swank, new building four years earlier, but Bob had never really taken to it.

He opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him, and walked over to the table where Helen and Dash were sitting. Helen was talking to someone on the phone, a frown marking her otherwise lovely face. He paused a moment and gazed at the love of his life.

Ten years earlier he thought he'd lost her. He was sure most of his family had been killed; and when he found out that they still lived, and that his own life was therefore worth living, it made a profound change in the way he dealt with them all on a day-to-day basis. He'd spent most of the year following making up for lost time, getting to know – _really_ know – his kids, and getting reacquainted with the dazzling, complicated, phenomenal woman who had consented to share his life with him. And he had fallen in love with her all over again.

For her part, Helen had been _almost_ satisfied in her position as homemaker, but after all the unpleasantness on Nomanisan she discovered that she'd missed the action of being a super. Not that being a wife and mother lacked action; far from it. She never missed a beat in that role, even after Team Incredible geared up and went to work. But she was _extremely_ good at the 'super' game, she was a natural tactician and expert at infiltration, and was thrilled to be a part of it again. She'd thrown herself into a strenuous regimen of aerobics and free weights, and eighteen months later had nearly regained the figure she'd had in her early twenties.

There was one thing that worried her, though. Or maybe worry is the wrong word. It made her concerned for Bob. Basically, the effect of having such a completely elastic body was that she never wrinkled; she never got laugh lines or crows feet or saggy arms or any of those sorts of indicators of middle age. Except for the few strands of gray in her hair and the few 'liver spots' on the backs of her hands, at just shy of fifty years old she looked about half her age and trained down fine. And she felt every bit as spry and limber as she ever had. It made her wonder how Bob felt about growing old himself.

Bob hadn't aged quite so gracefully. He kept the little fringe of graying blond over his ears and around the back of his head cut very short, but was otherwise as bald as a whitewashed cannon-ball, to borrow a line from Robert Service. And his back had been giving him occasional problems for years. He tried yoga and acupuncture and muscle relaxants and pain management biofeedback, and really, most of the time he was fine. He stayed with his weight training and flexibility exercises, and usually it wasn't an issue. But a couple of times he'd had to just work through the pain to get the mission accomplished, and had hurt himself doing so. Those periods of recovery had been slow. Ever since turning fifty he'd been toying with the idea of retiring, but hadn't been able to summon up the courage to broach the subject to Helen yet. He knew she had no intentions of hanging up her super suit any time soon.

He brought himself back to the present, and was about to ask her what the problem was when Violet, standing next to a refreshment cart, spotted him and held up a paper cup. "Hey, Dad, you want some coffee?"

"Depends." He sat down and eased into the chair, favoring his back. "How old is it?"

"I dunno. It was here in the Bunn." She picked up the carafe and sniffed it. "Smells okay."

"Got any cream over there?"

"Some of that Cremora stuff."

"That'll do. Light cream, no sugar."

"Right." She prepared the cup and glanced over at her brother, who was brooding at the end of the table. "How 'bout you, Dash, you want any …"

"No."

Bob raised his head at the flat, nearly hostile tone and cocked an eyebrow at his son. But then he looked over at Violet with half a grin. "I don't think he wants to be here."

"Oh." She surveyed her brother's morose countenance as she carried the coffee to the table, then glanced up at the big date-and-hour display on the wall. "Well, my guess would be a time pressure problem, then."

"Yeah," agreed Bob. "It'll take too much time to get back to Australia. He's been here almost a week longer than he'd planned, his term starts Thursday, and we don't even have a flight arranged."

"I bet we could sweet-talk Agent Thomas into letting him dead-head on a military."

"Ah, but that's how he got over here, and to hear him tell it you'd think it was some sort of advanced torture method."

"Oh, he's just picky. Might even say spoiled."

Dash studiously ignored this exchange.

"True, true." Bob pretended to a look of serious consideration. "Of course, he might also have another reason for wanting to get back a little early."

Violet dimpled. "You mean that willowy, black-eyed reason with the short, blonde hair and the dynamite tan?"

"That's the very one."

"Yeah. It's not as if he ever talks about her or anything."

"Absolutely." Bob nodded confidently. "One might get the impression he hardly ever thinks of Julia at all."

Dash looked up at them after that remark. "You know, I _am_ in the room. You don't _have_ to refer to me in the third person."

Violet put up her hands in mock alarm. "The mummy speaks!"

Dash's outline flickered almost imperceptibly and suddenly Violet couldn't see. She reached up and snatched off the oversize coffee filter that Dash had draped over her head and snickered at him. He tried not to grin in return, but couldn't quite suppress it. Violet said, "Ha! Made you laugh!"

"No you didn't."

"You're laughing right now."

"I am – _splut_ – am not." His lips were contorting violently as he tried gamely to keep a straight face. He gave up and let the grin come. "Ya gotta admit, though, that thing makes quite a _dashing_ chapeau."

"Ewww." She wrinkled her cute little nose. "Don't you ever get tired of that stupid pun?"

His face betrayed nothing but innocence. "What pun?"

Helen shouted, "You did _what?_"

They all spun around to look, noting that she was still on the phone. She'd said something about giving Jack-Jack a call to check up on him. She had one hand clenched against her hair and appeared most agitated. "You were _supposed_ to stay with _Lucius!_"

Bob asked, "What is it, Honey? What's wrong?"

She turned and gave him a look of exasperation. "Listen to this." She stabbed the conference button on the phone and put the handset back in the cradle. Jack-Jack's voice came through the speaker, jabbering at warp speed, "… and Lucius had to go talk with his publisher or editor or somebody and I was gonna stay with Miz Honey but she wanted to go out shopping that afternoon, so I said I was old enough not to need a baby-sitter and it'd be fine if I just went over to Jerry's since his big sister's there and all and she's sixteen, and Miz Honey said they didn't have time to drive me, so I said I'd just do a 'pop' and Lucius didn't have a problem with it and …"

Their mother's voice grew taut as some of the irritation she felt leaked through. "Jack-Jack, I told you we'd be home this evening! You've got to quit just inviting yourself over to your friends' houses for meals any time you feel the urge. It's just not polite!"

"But it _wasn't_ for a meal! And I was here anyway! And Jerry's mom brought pizza! For everybody! Three kinds! And Jerry's big sister got this cool new tape and we were all list'nin' to it and I was tryin' out some dance steps with her and …"

Alan Thomas, the Team Incredible Coordinator and their NSA liaison, came into the conference room then, and Helen had to cut the conversation short. "Never mind. Just you be back home by eight, young man, understand?"

"Oh. Okay, mom."

She cut the connection. "Sorry about that, Alan."

"'s okay. I've got kids, too." He dropped a thick binder onto the table and flopped down into one of the chairs with a _huff_. "Most days I wish that was all I had to worry about." He looked over at Violet. "How are you feeling today, young lady?"

"Don't 'young lady' me! You're not but thirty-five yourself."

"Sorry! You don't have to be so defensive." He looked over at Bob and smirked. "I guess she must be feeling all right."

"Yes, I am." She extended her left arm gingerly out to the side and moved it up and down. "Just a little soreness in that shoulder, but I didn't tear the rotator cuff. Doc gave me a clean bill of health."

"And the force fields?"

She looked at him, and suddenly he was floating near the ceiling. He glanced down at the dimly sparkling circle under his chair and nodded. Violet wafted him gently back to the floor and said, "No problem."

"Well, that's good to know." He snapped his fingers and said, "Hey! Here's something for all of you here." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card. "Got a postcard from Rick. He and Marge went to the Bahamas after his retirement party. Looks like they're going to stay a while."

The rest of them crowded around to read the card, which was absolutely covered with Rick Dicker's small, crabbed writing. Bob said, "Heh! That old bird. So they're really thinking about moving there for good, huh?"

"Looks that way," responded Alan. "More power to him, I say. He's more than earned it." He flipped open the binder and pulled out several hefty documents.

Dash looked interested. "Whatcha got there?"

"Incident reports."

"Whew. That's a lot more info than you usually bring."

"There was a lot more damage than there usually is. When that earthquake generator blew, it destroyed the nearest six warehouses pretty much completely, and did serious damage to another twenty. And besides that …"

"Well, hey, if you'd rather we just left the bad guys alone to do their jobs …"

"That's not what I mean and you know it. We are grateful – _extremely_ grateful – for your intervention. Even though we knew it posed a severe threat, we didn't really have any idea just how severe it would have been."

"Oh?" said Helen. "And how do you know now what you didn't know then?"

"It's all here," and he picked one of the reports out of the stack and tossed it on the table, "but I'll give you the _Reader's Digest_ version. See, when you redirected that thing's output from the ground to the sky, you gave us an opportunity to study the energy. Knocked two satellites out of the sky … blew them into their component atoms, more like … and seven others nearby got to sample what was going on."

Violet prompted, "And that would be?"

"The fundamental creation of pure energy from matter. One unholy hell of a _lot_ of pure energy."

None of them said anything for several seconds, but then Bob gave a low whistle. Dash cleared his throat and said, "You mean like an atomic explosion?"

"No, not really. I'm not a scientific guy, and I don't really speak their lingo, but apparently this is something on a whole different scale. From what they were able to determine, the system uses the weak force to release energy from matter."

Dash asked, "What's a weak force? And if it's weak, how come it made such a big boom?"

"It's an idea from quantum physics. The force is only 'weak' compared with the 'strong' force, which is what holds atomic nuclei together. The weak force is what determines what kind of particle you've got, and how they change during nuclear decay." He waved a hand diffidently. "Like I said, I don't really understand all this, but here's the general gist. That machine would break the atoms apart and liberate the energy that was holding them together, but the process doesn't actually _destroy_ any of the larger particles to do it. Turns 'em into low-level radiation … some modified kind of alpha and beta particles. Low-speed, but high potential. Then it puts the free particles back together in these really, _really_ big nuclei, way bigger and heavier than any of our boys thought possible."

Violet frowned. "Heavier? So, if the nucleus is heavier, that makes the material heavier, too, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it would. It'd be a function of density."

She nodded to herself. "That explains a lot."

Alan cocked his head to one side and asked, "Like what?"

"Well," and here she turned to her father, "Dad, you remember when you asked me if I could move it? That antenna-thingy, I mean?"

He nodded. "Right. You said it felt heavier than it ought to."

"It did. A lot heavier." She looked back at Alan. "I guess that's why."

"Probably. Anyway, as I understood it, the vibrations were fueled with a power source that was based on the concept of zero-point energy."

Violet gasped, "You mean like …"

"Yeah, but on a much, much larger scale. And it used the ultra-heavy nuclei the process made as a by-product to 'slingshot' the force waves."

"Syndrome's been dead for a decade," said Bob, shaking his head, "but he just never quite goes away, does he?"

"Oh, I don't think we can lay this one at his feet. Not this time."

Helen said, "Huh? But he sold off his weapon systems to anyone who'd pony up the cash. He never cared about their political leanings! That setup had 'Syndrome' written all over it!"

"Well, at first we _did_ think it was another of Syndrome's little toys."

"But now you're saying it isn't?"

"Our science department is convinced this one came from a new source."

Violet raised an eyebrow, her tone skeptical. "And they could tell this … how? By the way the puddles of molten metal congealed?"

Agent Thomas didn't quite glare as he responded, "Give the forensic guys some credit, Vi. There was a lot more left of that machine than you could see from the outside. They had enough to work with."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do."

"Well …" said Helen, "… okay. Then who?"

Al riffled through the stack and pulled out a thicker file, which he opened before laying out flat on the table. "Him."

The photo was a grainy black-and-white and had obviously been shot with a telephoto lens from a great distance. The man was wearing an overcoat – he was the only one in the group not in short sleeves – but even so he looked to be nearly as broad as he was tall. His hair was dark, short, and thin, the face deeply lined, with prominent ears and a long, narrow nose. But the most arresting feature sat just above his small, close, pig-like eyes: a long, dark, and very bushy uninterrupted eyebrow that curled up at either end to extend past his temples.

"Is that thing for real?" asked Dash, pointing at the eyebrow. "It looks like he's wearing a, whaddaya call it? Brace? Bracket? That punctuation mark thing."

"As far as we know, it's real. We don't have too many pictures of him, and none more recent than two years ago, but he looks like that in every one. If it's supposed to be a disguise, it's certainly one he's comfortable with."

Violet had one comment: "Ick."

Bob asked, "So who is he?"

"The head of a very large and powerful crime syndicate. He operates in most of the Soviets and controls a big chunk of practically anything illegal. Name's Taruz Achmedjan, but nobody calls him that. He's usually referred to in documentation as 'Lord Tar' or simply 'The Master'. But privately, and especially when he's not likely to hear about it, they call him 'The Demon'. He hates it. That's what all his rivals used to call him."

Helen raised an eyebrow. "Used to?"

"Yes. Used to." He sent her a significant look.

That gave her an uncomfortable feeling down her spine. "I see. No more competition, huh?"

"You got it."

"Yeah, well, anybody that could come up with that earthquake machine would have to be a demon," said Violet with a shudder. "Who knows how many people that could have killed?"

"We think he had a pretty good idea."

"Really?" said Dash. "And what would that be?"

"Our best estimates put the number somewhere between thirty-five and forty million. Assuming the effects were confined to North America."

Bob jerked upright. "Holy crap!"

Alan nodded. "That's what I said."

"But I … we don't … Al, there aren't too many more people than that on the whole west coast!"

"True enough. But the _earthquake_ we're talking about is not what you typically think of when you hear the word. The Richter scale would be totally meaningless. It would have rung the planet like a bell, reshaped the coastline from Mexico to Alaska, almost certainly created dozens of new volcanoes, and blanketed the whole continent with ash. Fully half of that death-toll estimate was ex post facto collateral damage. Suffocation, starvation, that sort of thing. Also," he continued, leaning back in his chair, "there is good reason to think that the tectonic instability would have chained into all the neighboring plates, meaning that every country on the Pacific Rim would have been affected. We're talking kilometer-high tsunamis, whole islands disappearing, maybe even the formation of a new continental mass in the Pacific."

"But, Al!" exclaimed Bob, "even _without_ that it would have had world-wide effects!" He was waving his hands around, trying to get a handle on the enormity of the concept. "I mean, come on! Sure, it would've wrecked our continent, but every other country on the planet would've taken a hit, too. What could have possessed _anyone_ with even a _grain_ of intelligence to do something like that?"

Alan said, "I've got an easy answer to that. There are two more things you need to know about The Demon." He held up a forefinger. "Number one: he's insane."

Nobody said anything for a moment, then Dash asked, "You mean, like 'mad-scientist-type' insane?"

"I mean insane like about-as-unstable-as-you-can-get insane. He kills people for any reason or for no reason. He has paranoid delusions. He's been known to have long conversations with people who aren't there. He sets up elaborate schemes of one type or another, and then simply abandons them. He'll order his men into ridiculous or even suicidal situations, and woe betide them if they balk. He is completely unpredictable, personally. We caught a break when we nabbed one of his lieutenants. Fortunately for us, The Demon seems to have killed off some of his more competent people, and filled the empty spots with whoever was handy." He gave them all a level look. "If we hadn't known about the earthquake machine, and if you hadn't gone in when you did …"

Dash gave his sister a nudge with his elbow. "Looks like you did good, sis."

Violet's big, dark-indigo eyes had gotten very, very round. She turned and walked away from the table a few steps.

Dash followed her. "Hey, I was serious, y'know! You really did a great job!"

She shook her head. When she turned back to the group, tears shimmered in her eyes. "It's not that. It's just …" She held up both arms and then let them flop. "It's all the responsibility. You know?" She was getting quizzical looks from everyone, so she elaborated. "I mean, look, guys, normally when we talk about 'saving the world'," and here she made little tic-marks in the air, "it's really more like saving a piece of real estate, or saving some group of people, or at most saving a city." She wiped at her eyes and frowned. "_This_ time … this time it was for real. Really and truly saving the world. The whole thing. And we didn't even know it." She balled one hand into a fist and tapped it against her chin. "It's just too big. That's all." She gave her head a shake. "I don't … don't _wanna_ be responsible for the whole world."

Helen came around and hugged her. "Nobody does, Vi. But sometimes we don't have a choice. Sometimes … there isn't anyone else to do what has to be done."

Bob caught Agent Thomas' eye. "You said there were two things we needed to know. What's the other one?"

"He's a super."

The group looked at one another ominously. Dash said, "You're kidding! What kind?"

"Not a good kind, of that you can be sure. There are enough reliable personal anecdotes that we've put together a pretty good composite. He was hit, on more than one occasion, by automatic rifle fire. Tore the clothes right off him one time. Either he's impervious to bullets, or he's got some kind of personal shield nearly as good as Violet's. He's stronger than a normal human could possibly be. Not as strong as Bob, here, but strong enough, according to eyewitnesses, to pull another man apart at the joints without much effort."

Helen winced. "Ouch."

"Ouch is right. But worse than either of those, he probably – we don't have complete info – probably has some sort of disintegration capability."

Bob groaned, "Oh dear Lord."

"Yeah. It's a short-range thing at best. We don't know if he has to touch his target or not, but in any case the effects are devastating. He's _extremely_ dangerous in close quarters."

"Why," asked Violet, putting her hands on her hips, "haven't we heard of this menace before now?"

"As far as we knew, he'd never operated in North America before. We've got enough on our plate handling the local crooks and nutcases without getting entangled in other countries' issues with their supers. We figured he was the Soviets' problem, and they just hadn't managed to corral him yet. You know they have every super in the USS on the government payroll. Up until recently, we'd never given him a second thought." He shook his head, the hard line of his mouth showing how worried he was. "Apparently, he doesn't return our indifference. And we can no longer afford the leisure of ignoring him."

"I'd say not."

"And you know what the really disturbing thing is? That earthquake generator was a huge operation. It took years of effort and billions of dollars to set up, and he did it _right_ under our _noses_."

Helen came over and leaned against the table. "Not a very comforting thought."

"No. And he is by no means out of action. Since we tweaked his nose to the point of just about pulling it off, I think we can expect some sort of backlash in the very near future." He pulled out yet another folder, a thin one this time, and opened it. "So the timing on this other thing is … fortuitous, I guess you'd say."

"Other thing?" said Bob. "What other thing?"

"We've been asked for help."

Dash shrugged. "Sure. That's what we do. Who's asking?"

"The Soviet Bureau of Supers."

There was an immediate chorus of disbelief. Alan got them quieted down and explained. "Yes, I know this is unprecedented, but there you are. They've lost several of their supers in recent months and they're short-handed."

Helen, looking dubious, asked, "Lost as in 'can't find' or lost as in 'expired'?"

"That last one. And some of them died under some very peculiar circumstances, let me tell you. Have you ever heard of Great Bear?"

"Oh, yeah!" piped up Violet. "He's like, the Russian national hero. Shape-shifter, nearly as strong as Dad. Pretty much can't hurt him." She gave Alan a questioning look and asked, "Are you saying he got killed?"

"Yes."

"Wow. Must have been some more potent weapon to put _him_ down."

"No. That's the weird part." He flipped a page and read down a paragraph, nodding to himself. "He was shot, with a standard, garden-variety lead bullet, in the heart. According to all the data on him, since he was in his Great Bear form at the time, the bullet should have simply bounced off. But it didn't."

Dash pursed his lips. "That sounds awfully fishy."

"You're right about that. It stinks like a garbage truck. And some of the others are just as bizarre." He turned another couple of pages. "This guy, they called him The Wizard. Had mind-control powers, flight, levitation, t-k, invisibility and short-range teleport ability."

Bob whistled. "Formidable."

"To say the least. He was one of their top-drawer operatives. Care to guess how he died?"

"Apparently not in a way you'd expect. Am I right?"

"Yeah. You are." He paused, and then said, "He fell out of a twelfth- storey window."

"_Fell?_ A guy who can _fly?_ What happened, did he get knocked out first?"

"No. According to witnesses, he screamed all the way to the pavement."

The level of disquiet around the table rose markedly.

Alan closed the file and tossed it into the center with the others. "You'll all need to read up on the rest of the cases. I'd like you to get as familiar with all this information as you can in the next few days."

Bob narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "What's happening in the next few days, Alan?"

"Well … as I said, they asked us for help."

"So … that means what for us?"

"Well …" Alan looked uncomfortable and squirmed a little in his chair. "Actually, we, um, more or less promised our support and, um, cooperation."

"Alan? What did you tell them?"

"That we'd, um, send a team over to, uh, work with them. This coming weekend."

Dash jumped to his feet. "What?"

Alan's grin was anemic and very sheepish. "Um … I don't suppose any of you speaks Russian?"


	4. Chapter 4 Intention

Chapter Four

Hong Kong was, as the saying goes, wide open. There were few practical limits on what might be obtained, assuming enough money was involved. No excess, no perversion, no lust existed that did not find an answer somewhere in the halls and alleys and palatial suites of this, the ultimate city-state. And while it was true that other governments were obliged – officially – to condemn many of these practices and institutions, no one ever did anything about them … certainly not anything substantial or permanent.

That is because at least some of the leadership of most other countries, eventually, found that they had a need for the services this city-state could provide … though very few of them would admit to it, and not one would speak of it publicly. Nevertheless, diplomats sent to Hong Kong were invariably men and women of the highest discretion, able to maintain the most cordial of relationships with the ruling oligarchy.

But although this set of circumstances was of signal benefit to him, at the moment it did not concern a certain man in a certain trendy restaurant on the outskirts of Sheung Shui, near the border with China.

The evening was mild, and he sat at one of the outside tables, snuggled up behind a low picket fence that ran against the sidewalk where, it seemed, the inhabitants of the entire world rushed by. The thick throngs never slacked. At the height of the business day, during any meal time, or in the small hours of the night, it mattered not; there were always people here, milling and jostling one another in their hurry to get to wherever they were headed. A majority of them were of Asian extraction – this was the heart of Asian culture after all – but there were enough others, of all races, so that the man's curly, black hair and blue-green eyes didn't stand out as especially odd. He sat there at the edge of the shadows with a slightly bored expression, reading his paper and drinking his espresso, unremarkable and anonymous.

A waiter came and brought him his receipt, enclosed in one of the padded faux-leather folders that had become so popular of late, and laid it on the table beside his right hand before turning and whisking quickly away. He spared it a glance, noting the folder's color with interest. As soon as he finished the article he was reading, he folded his paper and left it on the table, opened the folder and retrieved both the receipt and the small envelope underneath it, and slipped them into his pocket. He left the restaurant then and joined the teeming thousands in the streets.

After a quarter-hour's walk he arrived at his lodgings, a roomy condominium in one of the upper-middle-class sections, and walked up one flight of stairs to get to his rooms. Once there he carefully locked the doors and shaded the windows, then using a small and highly unconventional piece of electronics, he made sure there were no bugs or taps anywhere in his dwelling. Satisfied of his privacy, he took out the envelope and slit it open, withdrawing the colorful piece of paper it contained.

With a grim nod, he took it to his study and the large desk that stood at one side. He pulled the desk away from the wall, exposing a length of wainscoting. A series of carved flowers ran along the chair rail at its top, and by turning two of them he caused a hidden door to pop open, from which he retrieved a small machine. He set this on the desk, plugged it into his computer monitor, and fed the paper into it. He could have worked through the coded message without mechanical aid if he had wanted to do so, but this would be somewhat faster, and he wanted to be sure that what it contained agreed with the master code. In a few seconds the message appeared.

**My dear Ivan,**

**With such momentous news, **

**why did you not come to tell me yourself?**

He put back his head and laughed aloud at that question. "Because," he said to the empty room, "Ivan Bolodnikov is not a suicidal moron." He chuckled as he continued reading.

**It brings me pain that you did not anticipate **

**this interference with our mission. I trust **

**you will soon have all the information we **

**need to deal with those who would come between **

**us and our destiny. You must find them for me. **

**All of them must pay. All of them must die.**

"Oh, yes," he thought, "Information I have. Information, my dear Demon, is not the problem. Not for me, at any rate. The problem is what to do about _you_." He read one sentence again and shook his head. "_Our_ destiny, is it? I think you're slipping."

**I have already directed some of my other **

**lieutenants to begin recruiting an assault team. **

**By the time you have the names and locations I **

**desire, we can begin to deal out our retribution.**

An assault team? That did not sound good, not at _all_. Many quirks and shortcomings the old man might have, but he lacked no skill in finding talented assassins. "You did, after all, find me, didn't you?" he mused, reading on.

**And once the NSA is crushed and the North **

**American supers destroyed, nothing will **

**stand between us and the righteous wrath **

**that must be visited upon that hated nation.**

His mouth twisted in disgust. "Hmph. There will be nothing standing in your way but _me_, you lunatic. If you think I'm just going to sit back and watch while you screw over this entire planet, you're crazier than even I thought."

**Don't lose heart, Ivan. We will triumph in this. **

**It will just take time. And come to see me next **

**time, when you bring me the news of our victory.**

**- Lord Tar**

"Our victory? _Our_ victory? Oh, indeed." A wry laugh slipped out. "There is no 'our' with you, Demon. There is only 'I' and 'me' and 'mine' and others are nothing but tools." He'd known for a few years that his boss was seriously unhinged, but lately the Demon seemed to be getting worse. "And the only time I ever anticipate a face to face meeting is when I have achieved complete confidence that _I_ can kill _you_ before _you_ can kill _me_. Until then, this medium will do quite well, I assure you."

Ivan had every reason to be cautious, as would anyone whose employer also happened to be a homicidal maniac. It would not do for the Demon to discover that his trusted lieutenant, his personal assassin, his 'Man On The Front Line' had been directly responsible for the late disaster in San Francisco. No, that simply would _not_ do, and Ivan had taken every precaution to make sure he never _did_ find out.

It had taxed all the skills at his command to arrange the capture of just the right minion by just the right people at just the right time and place to prevent the Demon from learning of it. Ivan knew that only the NSA would have those on staff who were capable of realizing just who it was they had their hands on. Only the NSA would be willing and able to dig the information out of him. Only the NSA would have the mobility and the man-power to do something permanent about it. And, as a bonus, with the NSA directly involved, the Demon would be so focused on them that he would blithely ignore any little missteps Ivan might have made. Not that he thought he'd made any, but it never hurt to hedge one's bets. In any case, things had worked out better than he'd dared hope. The machine was no more, and North American supers had accomplished his task for him.

Nearly two years had passed since Ivan first determined that he would have to stop the project, when he had at last learned the true destructive potential of the Hyper-Mass Generator. At all costs, that weapon must never be used. It might not – _**might**_ not – be the mass-extinction event that would be entailed, for example, by a large asteroid collision. But it would've totally tanked most of modern civilization for generations, possibly for several centuries. And Ivan was much too comfortable with the benefits of culture at its current decadent level to want to risk its being snuffed out.

Let the Demon play at being warlord if he wanted. The man had been so obsessed with the idea of turning North America into a wasteland of smoking calderas that he never paused to consider the ramifications of his actions. But Ivan did not think that way. In brutal point of fact, Ivan cared nothing whatsoever about the fate of most of the rest of humanity. They could live in slavery. They could die. They could get by any way they cared to, and it did not matter to him, so long as his wants and desires were met. Having finally reached a position where he could afford to indulge his tastes, he was enjoying himself too much to take the chance that it might all go away.

He sat there, mulling the situation over for a while, and then deleted the message and disconnected his computer from the decoding machine. That item went back into its cubby and the desk was returned to its place against the wall. There would be time to formulate a suitable reply in the next day or two. Time enough for him to come up with a plausible smoke screen, something with enough truth in it to satisfy the paranoid old psycho – for a time anyway.

Meanwhile, he had other matters to attend to. His vast network of informers kept him fed with a steady stream of data, and he took considerable pains to keep his 'in-box' as empty as possible, information being that most volatile of commodities. But he well knew that information – _current_ information, the right _sorts_ of information – was more powerful than legions of troops. He'd had the ability since his early teens to ferret out that which he needed to know, to filter the golden nuggets of truth from the tons of raw statistical ore. It didn't matter what methods were used to disguise the data stream, how many protective layers were placed between him and the facts he wanted, he could always divine the best way to get them. It had taken him until his early twenties to realize that this was, in reality, a super power, but the power's very subtlety was one of its strong points. He'd leveraged it into his current position as the number two man in the largest crime syndicate in the Soviet States.

Nor did he share Lord Tar's aversion to using sophisticated techniques for getting his communications through. He was familiar with current encryption technologies, and did not worry that his vital messages would fall into the wrong hands. And even if some of them did, it would matter little. His organization was arranged in small cells and, as far as most of them knew, they operated with complete independence. Disabling one cell, or even several, would not slow down his operation enough to bother him. It ran like a sewing machine most of the time, and on those very few occasions when there was a slight hiccup it was never difficult to work around the glitch.

Another two hours had passed before he was satisfied that he still had a firm grip on his various projects. He powered down the computer, turned out the lights in the front rooms and went back to his suite. There he removed his garments and tossed them into the laundry chute. One nice perk that came with this building was the laundry service. If there was one thing he hated having to deal with, it was washing clothes. When the time came around, as he knew it would before too many more years passed, that he had his own estate and his own servants, he would make very sure that no hint of laundry soap, no sound of sloshing rinse water ever wafted into his house.

He took a quick shower, shaving under the running water as was his wont, and toweled off. A quick toss with a brush and his hair naturally fell into the loose curls that so many women had found so intriguing. He stood in front of the full-length mirror in the large bathroom and examined himself with a critical eye: at just over 1.9 meters, he stood nearly a head taller than the average man on the street here in Hong Kong, and the well-defined chin and angular features gave his face a striking appearance. His muscles were sleek, taut, and abnormally well-defined, a tribute to the hours he spent in the gym each week, and the hours he practiced _silat_ each morning. Certainly, he was no master of that art, but even so he was a better knife fighter than three out of four who thought of themselves that way.

Anyway, it was only his back-up weapon. He'd taken up this particular martial art more for the discipline that it encouraged than for the skill he would develop. His preference in a fight was to kill his enemies from a distance, and he was _extraordinarily_ good at that; in fact, one could say with complete veracity that he was supernaturally gifted in that regard. As an old acquaintance of his had once commented, if you found yourself in a fair fight, you didn't plan it properly; and Ivan hadn't been in an unplanned fight in some years. The lengthy trail of corpses left in his wake gave mute testimony to his skills.

He slipped on a pair of silk shorts and went out to the bedroom. He wasn't ready for sleep, though, not yet. He had more thinking to do, more planning … because the way things had turned out in San Francisco had brought a certain issue to a head, as it were.

He had placed a comfortable wing-back chair in the center of the floor, facing a wall. That wall was adjacent to the living room, had no doors or windows, and so was perfect for his purposes. He sat down in the chair, and contemplated with deep relish the objects he'd attached to the wall. There were a few newspaper columns, a couple dozen magazine articles, some theater tickets, a single glove, and a knitted cap, but primarily the wall was covered with images. They were photographs, mostly, with some line drawings and sketches and one rather nice oil painting, all of which contained the likeness of one woman: the super, Violet Parr.

Oh, sure, the rest of the world knew her as Invisigirl or Ultralass or Miss Appear or one of the other half-dozen aliases she'd used. But he knew who _she_ was. He knew _her_, the quintessential _her_ that others didn't see. He knew her better than anyone outside her family, and maybe even better than some of them did.

He knew that she loved blackberry sherbet, that she used carrot oil on her meter-long-plus hair to keep it manageable, that she had once mentioned her nose as her most objectionable feature (for which comment he thought he knew her better than she did herself, since in his view her nose was the most charmingly adorable such item that ever had graced a face). He knew that she thought horses to be the most beautiful animals in all of creation, but wasn't very good at riding them; that she'd gotten her degree in criminology because she aspired to be an agent with the FBI; that she regretted not knowing either of her grandmothers … and that she was still a virgin (a fact he reveled in because he felt in his heart of hearts that she was saving herself for him). Also, and perhaps most important among his many bits of knowledge, he knew that she was the offspring of two highly potent supers, and that her inherited powers were of such a magnitude as to make her one of the most redoubtable supers on the planet, if not the greatest in that rarified company.

He gazed longingly at the photos, and especially at his most recent ones, the ones taken by all the remote units he'd hidden in and around that doomed warehouse in San Francisco. Some of them were remarkably good. There was Violet skimming across the floor, propelled by her planes of force; there she was, kneeling, cutting a hole through twenty centimeters of superalloy in a matter of seconds; and there, holding the Hyper-Mass Generator in a sphere of force, those sumptuous arms outstretched, those perfect legs spread wide to brace her, the cascading black wealth of her hair swaying behind her, reaching to just below the flare of her hips. She was magnificent. Magnificent, and ripe with untapped potential. Under his tutelage, there was no limit to what she might achieve … to what _they_ might achieve.

Her parents were in some of the pictures as well: Robert and Helen Parr. Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl. They were two of the legends, the ones who had finally defeated that madman, Syndrome, and brought the supers out of hiding … though he did not consider that a good thing, necessarily, not by a stretch. But they were her _parents_. She was the daughter of _supers_, the amalgam of disparate abilities, condensed, distilled and refined into something even greater.

This was a very unusual thing. Not that supers didn't marry, but that they hardly ever married other supers, and even more rarely did such a pairing procreate. This in particular was a trait he prized in Violet, because it was a trait he shared with her, this mixed blessing, his by birthright and blood, and he was determined – _determined!_ – to take it to the next level.

He got up and walked to the wall, put out a hand and caressed the curve of her two-dimensional face. "Violet, my princess," he breathed, almost reverently, "my gem, my love, my perfect one. Our children will be gods."


	5. Chapter 5 Introductions

Chapter Five

"Violet?

"Mmhnnuh?

"Wake up, Honey."

"Hm … Nng … shnugnn?

"We'll be there before too long," her mother said. "You need to be awake for all the customs and immigration paperwork.

With a heavy sigh, Violet opened her eyes and rolled onto her back. She rubbed a hand across her face and yawned prodigiously, then hit the button that made her seat retract into its normal upright position. "Uff. I'm just glad we didn't have to fly coach class. It's a heck of a long way from home to the USS."

She looked over at Dash, who occupied the seat next to hers, and chuckled, "You look awful."

"Thanks," he replied, sarcastically. "Love you too." He rubbed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "At least you _could_ sleep."

"As often as you go continent-hopping I'd think you'd be past jet lag by now."

"Yeah. You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

Violet decided not to prod him any further, his profound misery being too evident to ignore. Things _really _hadn't gone his way. Not only did he have to postpone his next semester – the second time such a chain of events had happened – but he hadn't even been able to get in touch with Julia on the phone. The best he could do was to leave a message (okay, several messages) with her father. Thankfully, the old man liked Dash, and thought he was a good influence on his headstrong daughter.

A steward came by with a tray filled with warm, moist towels and each of them accepted one gratefully. He also announced that breakfast would be served in twenty minutes and left a menu for them to look over, saying he'd be back in five minutes to take their preferences.

Looking his menu over, Dash asked, "What's borscht?"

Bob glanced over at him and said, "Beet soup. Usually served cold, with a dollop of sour cream. I've had it. It's pretty good."

He'd lost Dash at the word 'beet' though. The young super wrinkled his nose and allowed as how he thought he'd just stick to eggs and sausage. Bob shrugged and marked his own menu.

Violet looked out the window and did a double-take. She turned around and looked at Helen in the seat behind her and said, "Hey! I thought we were going to Russia!"

Helen, looking slightly confused, said, "We are. We've been in Russian airspace for a good three hours."

Violet pointed out the window. "But look!"

The land below showed a patchwork of farms interspersed with small cities and the occasional bit of forest. Helen was still confused. "So?"

"It looks," announced Violet, "like northern California."

"And this is a bad thing how?"

"I didn't say it was 'bad'. But there's no snow. Where's the snow?"

Helen smirked and swallowed a laugh. "We're not going to that part of Russia, dear."

Violet was unconvinced. Every picture she'd ever seen of Russia, including all the ones in the information packets they'd been poring over for the last four days, showed snow, or at the very least showed people in winter gear. "I thought it was cold where we're going."

"Well, in the winter time I'm sure it _is_ a good deal colder than it is right now. But it's late May, Violet. Summer solstice is less than five weeks off. Even if we were going to the tundra, I doubt you'd see snow."

"Oh." Violet reddened slightly, feeling rather foolish. She muttered, "I wonder what else I missed. Should probably just keep my mouth shut."

For those of you who have actually _done_ any international travel by plane, you will understand how the next few hours could be both grueling and tedious. For those of you who haven't … count your blessings. Even with the USS government smoothing the way, things got rocky a few times. But eventually they found themselves in the lobby of the hotel they'd been assigned – an upscale place reserved for the more well-to-do tourists – and went upstairs to their rooms. Violet and her parents had adjacent rooms, but Dash's was a little way down the hall and on the other side.

Bob said, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I need some sleep." That statement was met with a chorus of assent. "Okay, then. It's …" and here he looked at his watch, "ten-forty right now. I say we all catch a good, long nap and meet around five for supper. The CCK doesn't need to see us until tomorrow morning at nine. We can eat light this evening so we sleep well tonight, have a good, big breakfast when we wake up, and maybe we'll be past the jet lag by time for the meeting."

"Sounds good to me," said Dash, stifling a yawn. "I'll see you guys in six hours." He used the keycard to open the door, set his bag on a bench in the closet just inside it, and closed and locked the door behind him. He leaned back in a stretch, knuckled his lower back briefly, and shrugged out of his shirt as he walked the rest of the way into the room … then he stopped dead, his mouth hanging open.

"Hullo there, chuck."

The sleek, female figure lounging on his bed had very short, very curly blond hair, eyes the color of obsidian, and smooth skin of a creamy light brown. "Julia?"

"Shh! Shh!" she whispered, bouncing up off the bed. "Don't call me that. Unless I'm home, call me Vibe." Her power – the generation of waves, beams and walls of sonic force – lent itself to the handle. It had manifested very early, she mastered its use when still rather small, and consequently she'd been something of an Australian national treasure for nearly half her young life.

Instantly he was holding her, covering her face with kisses which she eagerly returned. "Oh, Honey! It's … you're …" He held her at arms length to gaze greedily at her petite, oval face and flashing smile, then pulled her in for another kiss. "So _**GOOD**_ to _**SEE**_ you! How'd you get here?"

She giggled again and hugged him close. "Me Mum put in a good word for me with the PM. Y'know I saved 'is skin last year at th' Fall Smash."

"Ah! So you did. That bomber guy ever get out of the hospital?"

"Nah, not really. 'e wound up in th' prison 'ospital. Last I 'eard 'e was gonna be drinkin' 'is meals for at least another year."

"Good enough for him." He couldn't seem to stop grinning. "So how did you …" he waved his arm at the room.

" 'ow'd I get in? Sweet-talked the CCK liaison." She gave him a telling smile. "Me room's next t' yours." She pointed a slender arm to her left. "Right through that door right there."

The hair prickled on the back of his neck, and he got a goofy grin on his face. "Got some ideas for later, huh?"

"Later? Sure. Later's good. But I 'aven't seen ya in close on to a month. What's wrong with now, too?"

"Heh! Not a thing in the world." And he pulled her close. Sleep, it would seem, was not in his near future after all.

##

The headquarters of the Soviet Bureau of Supers was on the outskirts of Groznyy, underneath what passed for a shopping center. The cave-like entrance was nearly a kilometer away, though, and their limo traveled through the darkness for a good while before coming to a stop in front of a set of glass doors. Four guards in full armor stood beyond the glass, two on either side of the central door, and the stubby noses of particle beam cannons could be seen in each of the four upper corners of the big room.

Bob glanced over at his wife and commented, _sotto voce_, "Paranoid bunch."

"If _our_ entire team had been killed in the weird ways their top operatives have been," she answered in a whisper, "don't you think the NSA might be a little spooked?"

He grimaced a bit and nodded. "Good point."

The driver opened their door and they stepped out into the antiseptic antechamber. Their liaison, one Piotr Kreshcheyev, an unsmiling, perpetually tense man who seemed to have slept in his clothes, preceded them into the foyer. Dash and Julia went next, holding hands and grinning at one another.

If the sight of Julia at breakfast had shocked Dash's parents, they hid it well. Secretly they were thrilled that he'd finally found someone he could be so happy with, rather than tomcatting around with any girl that threw herself at him. He'd had a couple of pretty wild years in his late teens, largely due to his being such a hot chick magnet. Standing at an even two meters, Dash was a hundred and forty kilos of rawhide and whalebone, ripped and tanned, and the perfect smile, dark blond hair and flashing blue eyes didn't hurt the picture one bit.

The influence of his father was quite apparent, and was becoming more so over time: Dash, at the age of twenty, could press four times his weight and dead lift close to a ton, and his body's durability had improved proportionately. His speed was up as well, to the point that he could go supersonic if he really felt like it. Dodging bullets was child's play. From the time he was fifteen he'd pretty much had his pick of girls, and the teenage hormones hadn't been much help in restraining his impulses … until he met Julia on a mission some two years back. The pert super girl had been the first female in a while not to go all limp and gooey over him, and it piqued his interest. They did four more missions together over the next six months, saving each other's lives multiple times. He told her he loved her on Halloween of that year, and hadn't so much as looked at another woman since.

Julia sat in Dash's lap on the ride over, her slight weight a constant distraction to him. They'd been an item for nearly eighteen months now, and engaged for two, having decided to marry as soon as both of them graduated. Putting off a semester of college, then, was a frustration for several reasons.

Bob and Helen followed the young couple, with Violet bringing up the rear. She watched her brother and his intended with mixed emotions. Of course she was happy for him – he was a great guy, and deserved the best, which Julia certainly was – but seeing them together that way always brought to her mind that she didn't have anyone of her own.

It's not as if the behavior hadn't been modeled for her. Her parents were as devoted a couple as she'd ever known, and still goofy in love after a quarter-century of marriage. "Maybe," she mused, "that's part of the problem. I've got some really high expectations for a relationship, with them as my ideal."

Oh, she'd had relationships, some of them even fairly promising, but in every case they had ended … well … poorly. Tony Rydinger had been her first real crush. But there had been so many times when she'd been off doing hero work, so many times when she couldn't really tell him where she'd been, that he developed trust issues and broke it off the week after her fifteenth birthday. She dated some after that, as a sophomore and junior in high school, but mainly just to have fun or do one of her friends a favor. Nobody ever "clicked".

As a senior, she had discovered forensic science and criminology, and had gotten really focused on one of those as a secret-identity career. Between that and an increased presence as a super, she just didn't have time for a boyfriend. When she enrolled at CSU-Sacramento in pursuit of a degree in her chosen field, it was absolutely _all_ she could do to participate in the super team and still keep her head above water, academically. Consequently, much of the time her grades weren't the best. But she got her degree in the usual four years, which made her very happy.

After graduation she landed a part-time position with a big law firm in San Francisco as a legal transcriptionist. It was by no means ideal, but considering her schedule as a super, it was probably the best she could do for a while, and she'd stuck with it. In the two years since, she'd dated rather a lot. No one as stunningly beautiful as she was could avoid it. She'd filled out _quite_ nicely, thank you very much, and her body looked very like her mother's had at that age. Her facial features were different, though. She had those wide, indigo eyes, and her grandmother's high forehead and cute little nose. And then, of course, there was that hair.

For whatever reason, her hair grew faster than ordinary hair. She'd not had it cut short since the age of ten, so it cascaded down to past her hips in long, soft waves of blue-black. Invisigirl's hair had been the subject of any number of beauty-magazine articles, and pictures of her wearing it loose brought top dollar with the tabloids. (Pictures of her, period, were highly prized, since she wasn't visible in public all that often.) As a result, she had adopted the habit of wearing it in a thick braid down her back, or, in certain situations, put up in a snood. It was a rare occurrence, indeed, for her to be seen 'out' with her hair down. But, oh! When she did…

The party ended up, after much walking, in a long, low conference room where several of the Soviet supers were waiting. Piotr, who was giving the first signs of being truly comfortable since they'd met him the day before, showed them to their seats and began introductions.

"We will start," he said in his accented but perfect English, "by going through our team first." He gave a nod toward Mr. Incredible and commented, "I feel fairly sure that all of us are aware of your powers. Your team gets excellent coverage in the world press."

Bob shrugged and held up his hands, shoulder high. "What can I say? They hardly ever leave us alone."

About halfway down the table a tall, thin woman of middle years spoke up. "And we not have any of those – what they called? Tabloids? – yes, we have not tabloids. State paper is not like write of us."

The man to her left put in, "You mean the state won't let them."

She glanced at him and gave a small shrug.

Violet had looked around the table and thought to herself, _"Dour bunch. Wonder what they do for fun in the evenings."_

Piotr pointed to the first man at the table, nearest the door. "This is Morph. He is a shape-shifter."

Julia said, "Cool! I've got a friend 'oo can do that. She c'n turn inta any kind o' cat."

"Morph," declared Piotr, "can assume any shape or form. Other than being restricted to objects or beings roughly twenty times his resting mass, he has no limits that we have discovered."

Team Incredible all looked at him with a measure of respect. Dash said, "So … you can turn into, like, rock or metal?"

"Easily. Or liquid or gas or anything else I can dream up."

"That's a heck of a power, sir. You must be just about unstoppable."

Morph's lips quirked in what was almost a smile. "I get by."

"Next is Trouble." Piotr waved at a pleasant-looking young woman with long, brown pigtails and wide, green eyes. "She is an accident-prone."

Helen gave him a skeptical look. "That's a super-power?"

"You don't understand. Let me explain …" he said.

"No," said Trouble, "Let me." She looked at Helen, smiled, and gave her a wink.

One of the legs of Helen's chair popped loose from its central swivel and she tumbled backwards to the floor, flipping over completely and fetching up against the water cooler next to the wall, which promptly cracked, spilling its contents all over her. Bob jumped up to help his wife, who had a most startled look on her face.

Trouble chuckled. "If _really_ give things push, water would splash into electric socket, and you be sitting on bare ground wire."

Piotr expanded on the ability. "When she goes against a foe, his weapons backfire, his vehicles break down or burn, his escape routes get cut off by landslides or gridlock, his clothes catch on hidden projections, his …"

"That's okay," said Helen, grinning a little as she shook the water out of her hair. "I get the picture." Catching Trouble's eye, she said, "I'm very glad you're on our side. Thrilled, actually."

"Thanks."

"Next is Dryad." Piotr indicated the girl next to Trouble. She was pale and thin, with huge, luminous golden-brown eyes and long blond hair that had a slight greenish tint to it. Her clothing consisted of long vertical strips of some shimmering, light green cloth in a shade that complimented her hair. "She communicates with plants and can get them to do what she wants."

Julia wanted to know what a plant could have to talk about.

Dryad sighed and said, "I hear that too much. You be surprise. People not think to be hide anything from plant." She looked over at Piotr and added, "You not say about instant transport."

"Yes. You are right. She can enter any plant, anywhere, and emerge from another of the same species anywhere else."

"Only real problem there," she said, "is I not able take anything else with me. Is like astral projection, only my body there waiting when I emerge."

Helen asked, "What about your clothes?"

Dryad smiled and held up an arm. "You mean this? This me. I need no clothes."

Helen couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she just nodded and sat back in her chair.

Piotr continued. "This is Smithy," he said, pointing at a large and very muscular man two seats down from Dryad, who sported a shaggy head of black hair and an awesome beard. "He has an affinity for metals."

"What," asked Bob, "like magnetism?"

"Not really," answered the liaison. "Or I should say, not only. Besides moving it he can cause metal to bend or rust or heat up or shatter … or become so strong that nothing _can_ shatter it. Also, he's got super-strength himself. He can lift several tons."

The big man had said nothing, so Dash asked him, "Does your power affect any metal or just the ferrous metals?"

Smithy looked at Piotr, who rephrased the question in a fluid tongue none of the Incredibles recognized. Smithy answered, and Piotr said, "Any metal. Type doesn't matter." He answered their unspoken question by saying, "His English is poor, and I don't expect any of you speaks Mongolian, so he's been left out of most of the conversation so far."

"Oh," said Dash. "Sorry. I didn't know."

Smithy rumbled, "Is okay."

"Huh?"

Gospodin Kreshcheyev chuckled and said, "I told you his English was _poor_. It isn't non-existent." He indicated the tall woman who sat to Smithy's left. "She is called Mute. Her power is that she can absorb sonic vibrations and store the energy. Then she can let it go later as concussive blasts."

"Cool!" This from Julia. "Can ya absorb any kind o' sound?"

"Yes. I can."

"How long can ya store the power?"

"I not know. Some months, maybe years."

"Wow! So how much can ya hold?"

The tall woman shook her head. "I not know either. They try … test my limits … but not find."

"Wow! Oh, wow! That's great! I can load ya up!"

Piotr nodded in agreement. "We had already thought to team the two of you together. It is a natural fit."

"Do ya want t' see if ya can suck up one o' me vibes?"

Mute shrugged and gave a single nod. "See what you got."

Julia pointed a hand at the woman and loosed one of her coherent sonic beams. She had achieved enough control over her power so that no one else in the room could hear or feel anything. To begin with she only delivered what might be called a love tap, but when Mute seemed entirely unaffected she started turning up the juice. Her brow furrowing, Julia slowly increased the wave energy until there was enough power in it to refract the light passing through it. Those at the table began to feel a sort of itchiness in their bones, making them all hunch a little in their chairs, but Mute just sat and soaked it up. After a minute or so she sighed and closed her eyes, smiled and leaned her head back. Julia kept it up for another couple of minutes, and then stopped. The rest of the supers either shuddered or blinked, realizing that a pressure had been lifted they hadn't realized was there. Julia asked, "Did ya get it all?"

"Oh! That … that _wonderful_! Is _strength_ you have!" She lifted her arms and looked at them, turning them this way and that. "Feel like I could pick up mountain!"

The girl glanced at their host. "I guess she got it." Turning back to Mute, she said, "And ya can just store all that up? That's incredible."

"It is," agreed Piotr. "So are the concussions she can loose. Normally she meters the power to use a little at a time, but if she wants to she can drain her entire reservoir of power in less than five seconds, which is, may I say, a very impressive sight. From a distance."

"Yes," said the young man to her left. "Preferably a great distance; and we've got film of what she did to five hundred and sixty thousand cubic meters of reinforced concrete, if you ever want to watch something that will pop the eyes out of your head." He waved to the Incredibles. "Hello. I'm Firefox. I'm a telekinetic. And this," he added, waving a hand at the girl to his left, "is Swifter." He looked at Dash and said, "She's got one up on you, sonny-boy."

Dash chuckled. "There certainly isn't anything wrong with _your_ command of English."

Firefox stuck a thumb against his chest. "Ohio State, class of '77."

"You're kidding! Really?"

He punched a fist in the air. "Go, Buckeyes!"

The girl beside him popped him with the back of her right hand. "Give it rest, Boo-Boo."

Julia laughed and said, "Boo-Boo? Whe'd ya git that, mate?"

Firefox shot Swifter a dark look and said. "From my frat at State. And I still ain't found out how _she_ found out."

"So, what's your power, Swifter?" asked Dash. "Speed, I would guess?"

The girl was of medium height and build, with short, dark hair and light brown eyes. "Da. And levitation."

"Whew! Nice combo."

"Has been handy. Ran off cliff once." She spread her arms a bit. "Not dead."

Firefox caught Violet's eye and grinned. "You've been awfully quiet. Kinda odd for somebody who's supposed to be one of the premier supers in North America, dontcha think?"

"It's better to be silent and thought a fool," quoted the girl, "than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt."

"Heh! Sense of humor, too."

"You said you were a telekinetic," observed Violet. "What does that mean in your case? What're your limits, mass and distance-wise?" Having gotten a better look at the Soviet super, she decided she liked what she saw. Dark-auburn hair in a short crew cut was paired with deep-set hazel eyes. He had a long, aquiline nose, a jaw that jutted just the least bit, and lips where smiles constantly played hide and seek.

"A sense of humor _**and**_ nosy." He rubbed his hands together, chuckling, and then cracked his knuckles. "Okay. My distance limit is line-of-sight."

"Ooo! That's pretty good!"

"Yep. But … if I have a telescope I can affect what I see through that. If I can see something on a monitor, I can move it."

"Get outta town!"

"Serious. A couple of years ago they put me in an observatory and had me dismantle this killer satellite some deranged genius had parked over Tbilisi."

Violet's jaw dropped. "Ah. Um. Good." She shook her head. "All right, I'm impressed."

"Mass is another matter, though. I'm limited to a couple hundred kilos, total." He grinned again. Violet thought she might not have much trouble getting used to that face. "But I've gotten very good at finding and exploiting weak points. It only takes a few newtons of force, properly applied, to blow out a tire or break a motor or bring down an aircraft." His grin got broader. "Or toss a little dust into an enemy's eyes while he's trying to sight on a target. Anyway, you'd be amazed at what designers overlook in complex systems."

"Boo-Boo is resident ego-trip of group," remarked Swifter.

"_Thank_ you, Swifter," said Piotr, with emphasis. He turned to Bob and Helen (who was still dabbing water out of her hair) and said, "So that's our team, in a nutshell."

At that point Trouble commented, "Kreshcheyev say we know you powers, but I make to say I not. I know Mr. Incredible and too-famous Elastigirl, but only just heard of rest of you." She glanced at Dash. "You are fast? Like Swifter?"

"Yeah. Top speed of about 1400 klicks. And I'm a lot stronger than a normal guy, but not what you'd really call super-strong."

"_Fourteen hundred?_ Kilometers per hour?"

"Uh-huh."

"Is supersonic!"

"Yeah. I don't do it unless I really have to. Breaking the sound barrier hurts."

"Uh … right." She turned to Violet. "And you are Invisigirl?"

"Shield. I'm going by that name these days."

"Very well, Shield. You _can_ be invisible, yes?"

For an answer, she vanished.

"Ho-kay. Why name 'Shield'?"

"Because that's my main ability." She became visible again and looked at Piotr. "How attached are you to this?" And she knocked a knuckle on the long table.

"If you really need something for a demonstration, I suppose it's replaceable."

A sparkling, cylindrical field of force appeared in the air over the table and sank into the wood. A round slug some forty centimeters across fell out onto the floor under the table with a loud _clack_, making most of the supers jump, and the field winked out, to be replaced by three small spheres that bobbed and bumped into each other above the table. "I can form multiple fields at once, in any shape I choose." The spheres became tetrahedral, then two disappeared and the one remaining changed into a reasonable likeness of a horse. It altered its color to dead black, galloped the length of the room and vanished. "They are impervious to material objects of any kind, and most forms of energy. I can polarize the field so that lasers can't get in but I can still see out, or turn it completely opaque, like that last one. I can mimic flight and telekinesis after a fashion, since I can lift things with the fields, including myself. I use them for transportation sometimes, if nothing else is available. And I can control them out to about a distance of two hundred meters or so."

"Damnation!" exclaimed Firefox. "How much can you lift with that field?"

"It depends. I've never gauged it exactly, but it's on the order of a few hundred tons."

Trouble's eyes bugged. "сказово!"

Mute sat forward with an expression of interest and ran a fingertip along the edge of the hole in the table. "Is remarkable. You use for offense?"

"Sure. I can narrow the field down to a line. Essentially, it's a variable-length one-dimensional sword." She grinned. "Or a really cool cheese-cutter. Anyway, I can form disks and throw them around like shurriken, or take a plug out of something the way I did with the table. Wood, metal, stone …" She gave a small, one-shouldered shrug. "… flesh or bone. Makes no difference to the field. I've found the ability to be highly versatile. It's easy to adapt the fields to whatever situation I'm in."

Firefox whistled and said, "I should think so." He caught Piotr's eye, pointed at Violet, and said, "I want to be on _her_ team!"

"I'll just bet you do, Fox." His tone made it clear what he thought of that idea, which disappointed Violet more than she thought it would. "But the first excursion teams have already been designated. Shield will go with Trouble to Leningrad. We have several leads to follow up in that area."

Agent Thomas had warned Team Incredible that they were guests in the USS, that the Soviet Bureau of Supers would be calling the shots as far as missions were concerned, and that they were to play it strictly by the book as much as possible. Violet hid her disappointment and decided to be as friendly to Trouble as she knew how.

"So," continued Piotr, "it's time to pass out your mission assignments. And believe me, there is plenty of work to go around. I can promise you that you won't be bored."


	6. Chapter 6 Brothers

Chapter Six

One of the principle perks of modern society that Ivan Bolodnikov most enjoyed was the ease with which one could move about the world. Trains, planes, and mass transit systems all ran off computers; and computers could be hacked. Information retrieval being something of a specialty with him, Ivan had easy access to any number or variety of ticket or passcard. He hadn't actually _paid_ to travel anywhere in years.

But he wasn't the type to limit his options to what was available in the way of commercial transportation. Ergo, he owned an extensive assortment of air- and ground-vehicles, and had them stored or staged at various places around the Soviet states. It was one of these generic-appearing coupes that he was driving today.

His destination was in one of the industrial zones just north of Makhachkala. Here, hundreds of companies maintained shops and laboratories and research centers, mostly having to do with the production and refinement of petroleum products. In fact, his own facility was situated within a short walk of the entrance kiosk to Lukoil's largest refinery on the Caspian Sea. Hiding in plain sight, as it were.

He pulled up to the gate and placed his hand in a small slot near the top of the ID station to its left. While the sensor plate checked his palm print against those authorized to enter, a miniscule knife took a tiny sample of his skin cells. The unit beeped and Ivan withdrew his hand. He waited the forty-five seconds it took for the system to verify his DNA, and then the gate slid into the tall fence, and he drove through.

One of the first things any visitor would notice about the place was that it was scrupulously clean. Every nook, tread, and window frame fairly gleamed with a polish rarely seen outside a clean-room. While Ivan appreciated the fact that this helped to keep the place in good repair, it was not his doing; and he would really rather, had he been asked, have kept the compound looking a bit more … well, generic. But that wasn't up to him. No, all this cleanliness could be blamed directly on the facility's only full-time occupant, his brother, Leonid Bolodnikov.

Ivan drove around to the rear of the largest building and parked beside one of the many huge doors that lined the wall. He got out and then checked himself, standing there against the car, and held still as one of the dozens of cleaning 'bots trundled along the base of the wall, sucking up what little dust had accumulated in the last few hours and scouring the already gleaming white paint. Leonid was partial to white. It was easier to spot dirt on white surfaces.

The square little robot went on about its business, and Ivan went inside. These first rooms were combination loading docks and staging areas, and were quite large, the smallest being at least twenty meters square and reaching to the roof, fifteen meters above the concrete. Ivan barely noticed any of that. He'd seen it all many times before, and proceeded to the rear of the room and through the door in the corner. After a couple of long halls and a flight of stairs, he opened the door to his brother's lab.

Leonid was five years his junior, and had been only ten when their parents had died during a mission for the CCK. To avoid induction into that august body, Ivan had taken Leonid and vanished into the vast underground of the Soviet black market. They led a meager and harrowing existence for a couple of years until Ivan got established as a reliable enforcer. By the time he was eighteen and Leo was thirteen, he was making a good enough living to get private tutors for his younger brother. It had not escaped his notice that Leo was different, and he had congratulated himself in the years since that he'd had the foresight (or maybe it was pure, dumb luck) to get Leo set up in his own lab. That investment had repaid in dividends a thousand-fold.

Leo, as Ivan had recognized, was a super. Only his power was, if anything, more subtle and more useful than Ivan's own information-gathering talent. Leo was an inventor of protean genius and supernatural ability. He had "the spark". He could put himself into any circuit, any mechanism, any system, and figure out what made it tick; why it ticked instead of tocking; and what could be done to _make_ it tock the way he wanted it to. He'd made any number of useful items for Ivan to employ in his role as a national peacekeeper …

Oh, didn't I mention that? Silly me. Yes, the fact that Ivan tortured and killed people for the mob was never revealed to Leo. As it happened, the younger Bolodnikov had a naturally tender heart and a strong inclination towards helpfulness. He was, in fact, almost tremblingly eager to be of assistance to others. And for many years he could conceive of no one who deserved it more, no one who could make better use of his inventions, than his big brother. _Ivan_ had always taken care of him. _Ivan_ always knew what to do. _Ivan_ was in charge of a branch of the government police force that tracked down and stopped terrorists. _Ivan's_ men adored him, would do anything he asked, would follow him into Hell itself for the honor of fighting alongside him.

And, yes, Gentle Reader, Ivan made the most of this serendipitous situation. He milked Leo for all the hardware he could get, and he hadn't been disappointed. The super-suit he wore rivaled the best that Edna Mode had ever turned out. A solid black number with a full-coverage helmet, it also could blend, chameleon-like, with almost any background if Ivan so desired. Its underlying superconducting weave made it immune to laser attack. It was proof against sub-sonic projectiles and most edged weapons, gave its wearer vision well into the infrared and ultraviolet spectra, provided four hours worth of breathable air, and carried within its highly creative micro-circuitry a miniature medical clinic. Ivan would never bleed out or die of poisoning or asphyxiate or go into shock while he wore the suit.

His weapons as well were Leo's designs. He carried four most of the time: a pair of sleek 11mm semi-automatics with 19-round magazines; a machine pistol that fired special, hyper-velocity 3mm rounds, alternating between armor-piercing and explosive, and stored in 120-round drums; and a particle-beam pistol. This last had a limited range and would only fire for about ten seconds, but it could burn through practically anything. All of Leo's designs operated flawlessly, never jamming or misfiring. He had simplified the changing and loading of the drums and magazines so that Ivan could virtually reload on the fly. Leo, effectively, had turned his brother into a walking arsenal.

And truly, although Ivan was sadly lacking anything resembling a conscience, he suffered no lack at all when it came to charm. The man could charm the scales off a snake. Bluntly put, with Leo already just about idolizing him, it had never been much of a trick for Ivan to get what he wanted out of him. Lately, though, Leo seemed to have hit a dry spell in the invention department. Ivan hadn't picked up anything new and exciting in several months. He hoped today would change that.

Leo didn't look up when Ivan came into the room. That was normal, though. Leo tended to get extremely focused on a project, and the closer he got to success, the more he tuned out everything else. Ivan looked on this as a good sign. He walked up to the table where Leo sat, and stared in confusion at the mess of wires and components. That conglomeration didn't look promising. He watched for a while as Leo picked up various components, apparently at random, placed each in a boxy machine and put it through a short cycle of some sort. His eyes were glued to a readout on the machine's side.

Finally, Ivan said, "Hello, Leo." He had to repeat it twice more to get his brother's attention, but at length Leo looked up and with some difficulty focused on Ivan.

"Oh. Hi. When did you get here?"

"About half an hour ago." He waved a hand at the stuff on the table. "What do you have going here?"

"It's part of that teleportation device. Or, I should say, it was. Now I'm not sure what it is." He turned back to the machine and examined some of the dials on its face, muttering, "Got to realign substantiation quotient … empirical disagreements … should work, though … need a better stabilizer … must invent the right ceramic …"

"Oh. I see. You still don't have anything for me." He blew a heavy sigh and hung his head.

Leo looked back up at him. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, it's all right, Leo. Don't feel too bad. It's just that I've got something fresh on my mind, and every time I think about it … well, don't worry. I'm sure you'll get it before it happens again."

"Before what happens?"

"We followed a terrorist cell into Minsk last week. They knew they weren't going to get away, and they took hostages. A pediatric ward."

Leo's eyes widened. "I didn't hear anything about that!"

"It's being hushed up until all the next-of-kin are notified."

"Next-of-kin!"

"I'm sorry, Leo. I don't like to be the bearer of bad news." This was a bald-faced lie. Ivan rather enjoyed the shock and sorrow that news of such 'incidents' always produced in his brother. Also, as often as not, these wild stories of his would kick-start Leo's creative juices. "But the terrorists blew up the hospital wing rather than allow themselves to be caught. Seventeen children and three doctors died. If I'd had teleport ability … well …" He sighed again. "There's no use crying over spilt milk, is there?"

In very hushed tones, Leo said, "I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, Leo, don't beat yourself up over it. As I said, I'm sure you'll get it figured out soon. Probably, you'll succeed before another such terrorist incident." He patted his brother on the back. "I've got faith in you."

His eyes brimming, Leo only nodded.

Still with his hand on Leo's shoulder, he asked, "Do you have anything else for me today? I could sure use something. It's getting tough out there."

Leo shook his head. "Nothing important. Oh, I came up with a new explosive, kind of by accident. It's a directional detonation, and about six times as powerful as C-4, but I don't think it's anything that would help you."

Ivan replied, in a carefully offhand manner, "Oh, I don't know. In a penetration action, or a standoff, especially if they have good barriers, such a thing _might_ prove useful. Is it stable?"

"Stable at zero centigrade. Starts getting pretty volatile around 20 degrees, and can't be safely handled over 40."

"Hmm. I suppose you have it in cold storage?"

"Of course."

"Well …" he pretended to toy with the idea, successfully hiding his glee at the prospect of such a powerful explosive. "I can take some off your hands if you want me to. Maybe one of my demolition people can put it to good use."

"Sure, take all you want. I've got half a kilo in that freezer over there."

Ivan waved it off and said, "Remind me before I leave." He pulled a stool over and sat on it, regarding his brother. "How have you been doing? We don't get much chance to talk any more. You look a little pale and ragged around the edges."

Leo nodded. "I have been spending too much time in the lab, not enough in the gym." He pinched a small bit of extra belly between two fingers. "And too many dumplings. But I have on my schedule to work out this evening."

"That's good. We can't afford to have you feeling less than your best. Lives may depend on it."

"So it would seem."

Ivan studied the smaller man. Leo's hair was black, and its texture may have resembled his own, but it would be hard to tell. He kept it no more than one centimeter long. The eyes were the same, though; blue-green and large, their exact shade depended on the lighting. Under sodium-vapor lamps, they were dark gray. Under clear skies they were bright blue. On the ocean they were deep green. But there the resemblance ended.

Where Ivan was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, Leonid was almost a head shorter and inclined to a paunch; and years of working in the lab gave him a habitual hunch, even at the age of just twenty-three. Ivan's features were sharp, with a determined chin and prominent brow. Leo's face was round, bland, and tended toward a double-chin. Ivan had trained himself up to the level of an Olympic gymnast. On most days, Leo's main exercise consisted of lifting food to his mouth.

Also, Leo was a nice guy.

His gaze faltered under Ivan's stare and he turned back to his workbench. "I, uh, need to get through the rest of these filtering units before supper."

"Of course! How rude of me. I'm keeping you from your work. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Ivan. And don't forget that explosive. It's in a green case."

"Oh, right! Thanks." He went to the freezer, retrieved the case, and left.

For a few minutes Leo sat staring at the door where Ivan had gone, idly swinging a miniature magnetometer from one hand, considering what to do. At length he sighed and set the electronic device on the counter. He got down off the stool, walked over to a worn recliner that had been pushed up against the wall, and sat in it. He leaned back, closed his eyes and stilled himself. Then, slowly, he shifted his perception … _elsewhere_.

It was, and it wasn't, like flying, this thing he had found he could do. There was no physical awareness of distance covered, no stream of air in his face, no whistle of speed. Yet he traveled.

It was, and it wasn't, like swimming through fog. He knew no muscles were involved in this act, yet it tired him after not too many minutes if he didn't stop to rest. And though he couldn't see where he was going, he always got to the place he desired to be. At this time, for this purpose, he desired to be with his brother.

Ivan was driving down the road, already several kilometers from the lab. Leo 'settled' lightly into the seat behind him, and listened. Softly, then more clearly, Ivan's thoughts came to him.

The most surprising thing – and the most disconcerting – that Leo had discovered about telepathy was that hardly anyone, hardly ever, expended the effort to really think. A stream of consciousness is not thought, and that's all that was going on in most human heads, most of the time. Unless focused on a specific job or worrying over a specific problem, the brain of the typical man or woman was, at best, idling; when watching television, it might as well be unplugged. Snatches of song or remembered conversation were common, as were images (usually of other people) and random thoughts related to work or avocation; but it was rare to find independent, coherent thought going on in a human skull, and that saddened him. For much of his life he'd had a high opinion of his species. These last few months had convinced him otherwise. It wasn't that he held them in contempt or recoiled in horror from contact – well … not all _that_ often – but it had taken him some time to get accustomed to the near-vacuum that existed between the average set of ears.

Ivan's thoughts were well-ordered to a much greater extent than those of a good portion of the rest of the population, and the direction of those thoughts frightened Leo more than he liked to admit to himself. That was the hardest lesson, the most difficult thing to accept: that his brother was not the brave, beneficent, upstanding officer of the Soviet that he'd represented to Leo for so long. Until recently, the younger brother had believed that Ivan got his start as a claims adjuster in the insurance industry and toiled and studied his way into police work, for the greater good of the State. He knew better now. Moreover, he suspected that Ivan would probably kill him, were he to find out about Leo's newly-expanded horizons.

The razor's edge he had walked the last few months – keeping Ivan eagerly expecting the next breakthrough while, in reality, working as hard as he could to hide or disguise all the things he'd invented – was an exhausting path. The new explosive was a good example. It was true that when freshly made the substance was incredibly reactive. But after freezing it once, a catalyzing compound was formed in the polymer. The catalytic agent remained suspended until the explosive was frozen a second time, when it was released into the material, rendering it nearly inert. It would still burn, but it wouldn't blow up. If the topic came up, he should be able to explain to Ivan the failure of the substance to detonate in terms that would satisfy him. At least, he thought he could. Subterfuge was never his long suit; he was no good at it, and he knew he was bound to make a serious mistake some time. Things would come to a head, one way or the other, before too much longer.

And then, of course, there was that other thing, that thing that had been robbing him of sleep for most of the last three weeks. As of yet, he hadn't completely identified the threat, but it was vast and dark and cunning and very, very old, and it loomed over the whole picture. Ivan was deathly afraid of it. No other being or organization had awakened even a hint of fear in Ivan these past many years, therefore Leo feared it as well. He had gleaned some gist of what made it a threat, but the things his new-found psychic senses revealed to him – well, to his way of thinking, they made no sense at all. A man, but not a man? Alive, but not alive? He realized that he had much work to do to prepare for it, and he had to get it done quickly, but as yet he didn't know exactly what that work was.

Leo hoped he could learn some more today. He paid close attention to what was going through Ivan's mind, and it chilled him to the core. He got a clear picture of the young woman …

… _a very good, a very beautiful young woman …_

… that Ivan had been obsessing over. He wanted her, in ways that left Leo feeling in need of a wash.

Leo would never consider – never for a _moment_ – forcing himself on a girl that way. He would know better how to treat such a rare treasure, such a gem as the young woman who haunted Ivan's thoughts, and who was, increasingly, present in his own. He felt obligated to protect her, to find some way to save her from his brother. Ivan was planning something … some way to get to her … his thoughts tended to jumble more than usual when she flitted through his mind.

Leo got the sense that he was being watched, and he pulled back. He looked … no, that was wrong, thinking like the body-bound again … he felt around for the **Other**. It was a bright thing, a shining, incandescent point of joy, and it called to him, the high, belling notes nearly out of reach, sending a thrill through his mind. He had felt this presence before, twice just in the last week. Someone … no, some_thing_ looking for him. Looking _at_ him. Not as prey, but not …

… There.

He 'turned' – again, the term had no meaning here – and followed. He pressed ahead and the traveling strengthened. He was closer.

He slowed and settled and stared at the creature, for creature it was, not vaporous like his own form, but real and dense and close. A large fox sat (how can one sit on nothing?) and returned his stare with interest. They regarded each other in 'silence' (again, definitions were tricky, since there was never any sound here at all anyway) for a long moment. And then it spoke.

_**WELCOME, BROTHER**_

He felt a tremendous, an unimaginable weight of power in that voice. If he had been in possession of his body, he would have averted his eyes and knelt. As it was, his mind curled up on itself.

**[ [ who … who are you? ] ] **

_**I AM KITSUNE…**_

_**YOU ARE NEW TO YOUR POWER**_

Kitsune? That meant nothing to him.

**[ [ how do you know me? ] ]**

_**IT IS WHAT I DO, WHO I AM …**_

_**IT IS MY WISDOM TO KNOW …**_

_**MY TASK AS GUARDIAN**_

_**OF MY PEOPLE AND MY LAND**_

None of that held any meaning for him, and that frustrated him. He ventured another question.

**[ [ how come you here? ] ]**

_**YOU NEED MANY ANSWERS…**_

_**BUT YOUR STRENGTH IS FADING …**_

_**I LEAVE NOW …**_

_**WE WILL SPEAK AGAIN …**_

_**SOON …**_

_**SOON …**_

The fox-figure lifted and spun away from him, and as it turned Leo could see that it had not one but several tails. That rang a bell, and he remembered where he'd heard 'Kitsune' before. _But that can't be! They're just legends! Japanese fairy tales! _But if that were true, who or what had been speaking with him?

In one thing she _(She? Is it female? That feels right, though.)_ was absolutely correct: he was getting very tired. He slipped along the smoky-silver pathways back to his own body, and opened his eyes.

This plane-hopping took a lot out of him, and always made him hungry. He heaved himself up out of the chair, made a beeline for the refrigerator at the other side of the lab, and in five minutes had taken care of that immediate need. Then he went back over to the workbench, swept the mass of wires and components aside with a dismissive arm, and pulled the teleportation device out of a small compartment under the counter. He was very close, so close he could see it, and he knew he had to get it done quickly. He would mull over this 'Kitsune' later, when he could afford the time. That she was immensely powerful, he knew beyond doubt, but she posed no threat … not in the sense that the dark, looming, unidentified presence was a threat. _That_ one he would have to … have to …

_No!_

He paused, and straightened, listening to his inner voice, and then he stiffened in urgency. Ivan was a problem, and Ivan would have to be dealt with before too much more time passed. But suddenly he knew – with that 'knowing' he had come to recognize and implicitly trust over recent months – that he had a much bigger problem; that _everyone_ had a much bigger problem.

He set the teleporter down on the table and wandered over to a wall full of bins and racks and cubbies, a faraway look in his eyes. Hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence, he began to pick out various articles. This was one project that he couldn't afford to ignore.

From the safety of an adjacent plane, a large, fox-like figure watched him with mounting approval. _This one will do well …_


	7. Chapter 7 Bored

**Chapter Seven**

In a tearoom in Leningrad in the early afternoon two young women sat talking. Both were of medium height. One had a pleasant, guileless face framed by shoulder-length brown hair, her bright green eyes quick to notice the details around them. The other, an indigo-eyed beauty who exuded an artless grace, wore her long, black hair in a snooded bun at the base of her neck. They toyed with their tea cups, empty these last ten minutes, and had just noticed the head waiter giving them the eye. Violet turned her cup over and placed it on the saucer with a sigh. She looked at the other girl and said, "Katrina?"

"Yes, Anka?"

"I'm bored."

Trouble chuckled and leaned forward to prop her elbows on the tiny table. "You say that like is bad thing."

"But, Tro … um, Katrina, we've been here four days and turned up precisely zilch." She leaned forward as well and lowered her voice. "I mean not even a whisper of a clue! Don't you find that frustrating? Or at least odd."

Trouble shrugged. "Is 'par for course' as Firefox like to say. We follow leads …" and she paused as she noticed a young couple nearing their table. She picked up her cup, pretending to be surprised at finding it empty, and placed it upside down on her own saucer. The couple didn't stop, though, and continued past them and out the door. She went on, "We follow leads we have. Leads go cold or turn out to be goose chase. Is normal. Is what is investigation most of time." She snickered, "You count blessings, girlfriend. Boring is mean they not know we here. Is good."

"If you say so." She gave a small snort. "I'd like to feel like we've accomplished _something_, though."

Across the street a man was sweeping litter off the pavement. He scooped up a small pile of detritus and dumped it into the wheeled trash bin he pushed along ahead of him. His head was down but through the lank hair that fell across his face, his eyes tracked one of the two women in the teahouse, comparing her with the photograph that was stuck to the underside of the bin's lid. In low tones he said, "Identification positive." A voice in his ear said, "Maintain visual contact." He parked his trash bin and began slowly to clean up around a group of statues in the little park that faced the tearoom.

Violet pulled several coins and a ten-ruble note out of her pocket and put them in the dish on the table. "You ready?"

"Da. We go back to jeweler now?"

"Might as well. Not much of a lead, but it'll use up the afternoon. I just wish I could get the chance to bust a few heads or something."

"Not be in such big rush. You get chance sooner or later. I know is true. Part of our line of work."

They left the tearoom and walked the two blocks to their vehicle. Trouble had been doing all the driving, since Violet didn't have a valid USS license. They pulled out into the light traffic and headed for the west side of the city. After a few blocks a heavy, dark blue sedan turned out of a side street and followed them. The selection of cars available to the average citizen in the Soviet States was rather limited, and they came in no more than a dozen colors, mostly dark, so it blended in very well with the rest of the traffic. Nevertheless, after a few more blocks Trouble got an itchy feeling between her shoulder blades. She scanned the array of vehicles behind them, but couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary, so at the first likely side-street she started a four-square maneuver. On the third leg of the square, she zeroed the tail.

"Shield, we get company."

"What?" Violet jerked her head up and peered around.

"Keep still! Is behind. I want see what they do." So saying, she gradually advanced her speed to about ten klicks over the limit. The pursuing car followed, still a block or so behind them, keeping pace but not attempting to overtake them.

"Do you think they know who we are?"

"Is good bet they know we try find intel they not want us have."

"They're almost close enough that I can snag their car in a force bubble if you like."

"Good idea, but not here. Too many people. I look for good spot." She headed for an area with lighter traffic. The CCK frowned on flashy public displays of super powers unless it was unavoidable. The other car stuck with them.

After a few blocks, a right turn, and a few more blocks, Trouble suddenly wheeled up to the curb, stopping abruptly. Violet hopped out of her side and turned to face the following car. But the driver apparently hadn't planned on a confrontation, or at least, not at this time. He had swung a hard right while Trouble was still applying the brake, and disappeared down a side street.

"Crap!" Violet jumped back into their car. "He took a powder! After him!"

Trouble had seen everything in the rear-view, floored it and wheeled to the right down a parallel street. "You say _'After him!'_?" She snickered and added, "Is good drama word. You watch too much Hollywood movie."

"Whatever! Just catch him!"

They saw him well ahead of them. He'd turned right again and was doing his best to increase the distance. Trouble's brow furrowed as she exercised her ability: as the fleeing car passed over a manhole, the cast iron cover suddenly broke. The car's left front wheel almost got caught, but in a dazzling display of skill the driver succeeded in bouncing out of the hole. Trouble cursed softly as he spun another quick right. She took the next right, and they spotted the vehicle as it zipped across, once more parallel to them. They saw it again at the next intersection, where it was turning left, away from them. The other driver got serious about losing them; he punched it, rocketing down the street and swerving wildly, nearly hitting several other cars. Trouble did a quick twist to follow them, earning her a few annoyed honks and one rude gesture. She sped up to catch the fleeing car, the very much non-stock engine in her vehicle aiding in the cause.

"Just a little closer," said Violet. "And I can take them out."

"Not need to," responded Trouble. "I handle." She got an evil grin on her face. "You want talk to them? Or just smash?"

Violet peered at the back of the car. They were getting closer, maybe within eighty meters or so. The windows were darkly tinted and gave no hint of how many there might be inside. "Them or him. Or her. Yeah, we need to know what they've found out about us."

Trouble squinted briefly at the car. There was a small splash of something wet on the pavement under it, then it shuddered and the rear end kicked up in the air as a shaft of some sort fell out onto the ground. The car's brakes locked down, it skidded along the middle of the street, fishtailing badly, and flipped over onto its roof, sliding the last ten meters or so to a stop.

Violet looked over at the other girl with respect. "Nicely done."

"много спасибо. Was nothing." She couldn't help sounding just a little smug. "We talk now."

Trouble pulled up to where the other car had died and the two young women got out and hurried over to it. Violet surrounded the vehicle with a field, in case of an explosive surprise, and used another to remove the driver's door. The man had a full beard, appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, and was a bit groggy from the rough treatment … but he came awake quickly enough when Violet plucked him from the car and held him upside down in front of them. She smiled grimly and said, "Hello. Did you have something you wanted to tell us?"

Trouble glanced around at the light traffic. Two cars had already stopped and one man was jogging toward them. She said, "Anka, we need get out of here."

Violet sized up the situation and came to the same conclusion. Instantly the man was righted and set on his feet, and she used a few well-placed fields to stiff-march him back over to their vehicle. The three of them got in and Trouble sped off. After a couple of blocks and a right turn she pressed a switch under the dash, and the rear license plate flipped over to a different number.

They found a deserted storefront and pulled around behind it to the empty loading dock. Violet mused that the number of such places she'd noticed – it had been several – didn't reflect well on the economic health of the city. They got out and Violet propped their unwilling guest against a wall.

They went through his pockets and, unsurprisingly, found them to be completely empty. Trouble asked him a question in Russian. He shook his head vehemently and responded with a torrent of denial. They swapped a few more bits of invective and Trouble turned back to Violet. "Say he not follow us. Not know anything."

"Riiiiiight."

"I think you maybe convince him some."

"No problem." Violet flipped him upside down again and bopped him back and forth between a couple of opposing fields several times. He started screaming, and she corked his mouth with another field. Then she spread-eagled him, still inverted, against the wall, put a small field around the end of each limb, and applied a bit of tension. His eyes grew large and the drops of sweat came thicker as he realized what she was doing.

She glanced over at Trouble. "The rack is an old ploy, but history has shown it to be very effective."

"Yes. Noticed that about torture. Not need get fancy." She leaned over and spoke slowly to the man. He shook his head again. She turned back to Violet and said, "Stubborn. Pull him some more."

Violet increased the pressure incrementally. His expression grew bleak. A couple of joints creaked and popped. He whimpered and trembled and tried to say something. Trouble showed her teeth and patted him on the cheek, then asked him another question. He nodded vigorously.

"Let him talk now. Is in mood for chat."

"That's good to know," said Violet, letting the gag dissipate. She eased up on the force on his limbs, but held him against the wall.

The man began babbling to Trouble. She would ask the occasional short question, and it went like that for about three minutes. The more she heard, the darker her face got. Finally, after one statement, she drew back and dealt him a vicious sock across the jaw, and he sagged in his restraints. Violet dropped him on the ground and let the other fields go, then said, "I take it you didn't care for his spiel."

"He is garbage." She spat on the unconscious man, and then kicked him twice. "Is in gang, very bad. Say they kill supers. Told how they … they kill Eagle."

Violet recalled that name. The Soviet super had had the powers of flight, infrared vision, telescopic vision, and a degree of super strength. He'd been one of the early ones killed, some four months back. "Are you telling me that this gang killed _all_ the supers?"

Trouble glanced over at her and frowned. "He say only of Firebolt and Eagle."

"Firebolt … he was the first one you guys lost under these weird circumstances, wasn't he?"

"Da. Eagle was second."

"So, he didn't mention anyone else?"

Trouble shrugged. "He know who die first and second. He know how they die. He is in gang we look for. Who else?"

"Wow. Looks like we hit the jackpot. And you really think we're on the right track?"

"Da! And this one we _**not**_ lose." She gave the man another hard kick for good measure. "We tie up and keep in car. Have Kreshcheyev talk to him later."

"You two talked for a good while. Did he tell you anything else?" Violet asked, watching as Trouble got a length of strong cord out of the car's glove box.

"Oh, bet your bottom on that one! He say where is house they meet." The Soviet super girl spent just enough time on the knots to make sure they wouldn't come loose on their own, then dragged him over to the car and opened the trunk. Violet used a field to toss him in, and Trouble slammed it shut.

A couple hundred meters away, on the roof of a five-story building, a man used a high-power electronic binocular to observe the two women. He listened to the dialogue that was transmitted via the bug that poor patsy was wearing, watched the interrogation and their subsequent departure, then spoke briefly into a tight-beam radio unit before making his way down to the street.

Once back in the car, Violet contacted the CCK on their secure line and told Piotr what was going on. "So we thought we'd go scope out the lay of the land at the location he gave us."

"That is fine, but keep your distance. If these really are our assassins, they are very dangerous. I'm sending Delta Team and Team Incredible out to help you. They ought to be there by early morning."

"Right. We'll find it and lay low. Out." She held on tight as Trouble floored it and the big car leapt off up the street.


	8. Chapter 8 Trap

Chapter Eight

Violet put away the communicator, stole a glance at the speedometer, and gave Trouble a pensive look. "Are you all right?"

"Da."

"You're, um, driving kinda fast."

"Is small time."

"Ah. Yeah … I guess." The girl wasn't just driving 'kinda' fast. She was making Violet nervous. "I don't think that house is going anywhere, though."

"If they think to hear from spy, and not hear soon, they leave. As you say, they 'took a powder'. We get there first."

"Oh. Um … okay." Violet tried to relax. Trouble was an excellent driver, and they didn't have all that far to go to get to the house in question, but taking corners on two wheels wasn't her idea of fun. To settle her nerves a bit she suited up in her personal field, but kept it off her face and hands so as not to insult the other girl.

Less than forty-five minutes had elapsed between Trouble noticing their tail and the point at which they pulled to a stop some hundred and fifty meters down the street from the address they'd gotten out of their captive. They sat and watched the building for a few minutes. In that short time, no fewer than four different men left the house, one by one, carrying large boxes which they loaded into a blocky, beat-up van that was parked across the street. Each time, Trouble's expression got more intense, more frustrated. The fifth time it happened, Violet was sure she could hear Trouble's teeth grinding. The green-eyed girl opened a compartment in the door and removed a large, semi-automatic pistol which she checked and loaded. She slipped a few more clips into her pocket and opened the door.

"Trouble! Where do you think you're going?"

"In morning not good enough. They go by then. We go in house now."

"But Piotr said …"

Trouble rounded on her, teeth bared. "Not _**care**_ what Kreshcheyev say!" Pointing at the house, she continued, "They owe me _blood!_ Eagle is cousin!"

_Oh, crap! A blood relative? Son of a …_ "Okay, Trouble, just calm down and listen a minute …"

"No! Not listen. Maybe you come, maybe you stay, I not care." She held up the pistol. "With gun and powers, I take them. You come, you help, is good. Is quicker. But I get them anyway." And she trotted across the street, aiming for an alley between two of the houses in the row.

Violet agonized for a few seconds. Should she try confining Trouble with a force field? She had no idea what the girl might do in that case, but Violet was sure it wouldn't be much fun for either of them. And she didn't want to alienate her, not after becoming friends over the last few days …

With an annoyed sigh, she got out and ran after Trouble, thinking, _"That girl certainly lives up to her name."_

In the house up the street, in an attic dormer, a man watched from behind a gauze curtain as first one, then the other of the women trotted across the road to the near side of the street. He smiled, pressed a button on a small console he held in one hand, and made haste to join his comrades on the second floor.

It didn't take the girls long to get to the rear of the house. It had a suspiciously high concrete wall running all the way around to each front corner. They couldn't see anything of the first floor, but did note that the windows on the second floor were barred. The high wall only had one entrance, and that door was blocked as well, with what looked like some kind of portcullis.

Violet surveyed their options and asked, "Okay, how did you plan to get inside?"

"Over top. Have rope and hook."

"Hang on." Violet squinted at the top of the wall, and especially at the corners. "See those funny-shaped knobs there and there?"

"Da."

"I think those are sensors of some kind. If you go over the top, they'll know."

"I fix so they not work." She looked at one for a few seconds. There was a low popping sound, and a thin streak of smoke wafted up from it. Then she repeated the process with the other.

Violet chuckled. "That's too cool. The more technologically advanced the enemy, the more vulnerable he is to your power."

"Is too right! Now we go over."

"Wait. How about we go through instead?"

Trouble gave her a puzzled look. Violet led her over to the corner and knelt beside the wall. Then she created a small cylindrical field a few centimeters across and forced it through the concrete, pulling the plug back out a few seconds later. The peep-hole gave them a view of most of the yard. It appeared to be deserted, which set off alarm bells in Violet's head. Having no guards posted simply meant that they were relying on electronic methods. It might also mean that the guards were behind windows or hidden in blinds. She spotted a row of bushes running along the near side of the house, and it gave her an idea.

"Let's move over there, about midway along this side wall. I'll get us through, and we can use those bushes for cover."

"Is good." Trouble loped along to the spot indicated.

Violet made the opening approximately square, and eased the big chunk of concrete out toward them in order to avoid any motion detectors that might be operating inside, floating it over to the side close to the wall. They squeezed through and ran the few meters over to the bushes, hunkering down beside the brick of the house itself. They heard someone around at the front of the house – no, two people, talking together. One sounded female to Violet. She asked Trouble, "Can you hear what …"

Trouble made a shushing motion with one hand, listening hard. The conversation was short, a door slammed, and a few seconds later a car drove off. "They leaving! I knew it! She going to Moscow." The girl was straining at the bit to get inside the house, and stood to get a better look at the windows.

Violet pulled her back down and whispered, "Look, if you want to get inside in a hurry, may I suggest the basement? Or crawlspace, if there is one?"

Trouble nodded, and Violet went to work on the foundation. A few seconds later the two girls were lowering themselves down to the cracked and mildewed concrete of the old house's basement. Trouble glanced around and pulled her gun, motioning with it to Violet to follow her. She glided over to a set of stairs leading up to a door they could barely see in the gloom. It opened away from them, but Trouble gripped the knob and concentrated, and it shortly turned in her hand.

On the third floor, two pairs of eyes watched a monitor screen. The camera was hidden in a false cobweb in a corner of the basement, and tracked the girls' every move. One of the men was seated in front of the console, and made a crude comment about what he would like to do with the black-haired woman, if she survived. The other man stared at him for a second, then gave a low verbal assent to the rough joke. The man standing, a tall fellow dressed in black, moved casually around behind the seated man, drew a long knife of metallic glass, and rammed it through his neck, severing the spinal cord just below the skull. The victim never even twitched. The tall man eased the body down to the floor, and then left the room, locking the door behind him.

Violet was on a hair trigger, ready to slice and flay if they encountered resistance … but they did not. The first floor appeared to be deserted, although they did note that the front door was ajar, and a couple of large boxes sat in the entryway beside it. A flight of stairs led to the second floor, and they ascended them silently, Trouble gripping her semi-auto in both hands. At the top of the stairs they both caught the sibilant sounds of conversation coming from above them, voices occasionally raised in excitement or anger. Two halls diverged from the stairwell, one tracking along the entire rear of the house, and one branching off from the center of the rear hall and heading straight toward the front. They could see more stairs at the opposite end of the rear hall, and headed that way.

Violet formed a field in front of them, but Trouble motioned for her to take it down, indicating her pistol. _Oh. Right. If they can't shoot at us, neither can she shoot at them._ She modified the field to a rectangle that extended from the floor up to about mid-torso, and added a flat one over their heads. Trouble nodded, and they proceeded to the next floor.

The voices were muffled, but they could tell from what direction they came. One door, then another yielded to unoccupied rooms. The first room was half-full of taped-up boxes with hand-drawn labels in Russian. The second room contained a quantity of electronic equipment, some of it still on. The voices were louder. The third room had a pair of cots and several items of clothing. Three different speakers wrangled with each other from behind the door opposite them. They crept up, silent as breeze-tossed feathers, and crouched on either side of the doorway. Trouble nodded, Violet formed a door-sized ram of energy, and drove it through into the room, both girls following in its wake.

No one stared at them in shocked surprise, though. No one in the room cared a whit for what they'd done, since it was completely deserted. Four chairs stood around a table upon which sat a tape recorder, the source of the conversation the girls had heard.

Violet pulled up short, her face a mask of surprise for a fraction of a second before the truth hit her. She was in the very process of forming a force dome around them when the floor beneath them exploded violently, blasting them upwards against the ceiling and then dropping them four meters to the hard tile of the hallway below. They both bounced painfully when they hit.

Now, one of the things that the two women had discussed over the previous four days was how their respective governments viewed super-suits. The NSA reimbursed the supers in its employ for whatever they needed, and most of them preferred to get their suits from Edna Mode or from her protégé, Carly Templar. Carly's suits had a tendency to be a little flashier than necessary. Edna's tended to go overboard with gadgetry. But the supers could all get pretty much what they wanted, and with either designer one was sure to get something that was nigh on to indestructible.

The CCK, on the other hand, discouraged the wearing of obvious super-suits. They preferred that their supers wear some sensible bullet-proof (or flame-proof, or radiation-proof, or whatever) undergarments and simple street clothes over that, or a military uniform in certain situations. But there was no analog for Edna in the Soviet states, and if the supers wanted anything other than standard Government Issue, they had to pay for it themselves. Most of them, therefore, got by with flak jackets or impact shrouds or something similar. Trouble was wearing an impact shroud, which would have been effective against small-arms fire. That wasn't what hit them, though.

The sudden violence of the detonation had played merry hob with Violet's concentration, and although she had been protected from most of the force of the explosion, she lost her field before they hit the floor. Super-suit notwithstanding, she had her bell rung, but good. She regained her senses in a couple of seconds, though, snapped a field over the two of them and lay there on the tile, trying to catch her breath. Bits of high-velocity wood and mortar had hit her in at least six places, she'd landed awkwardly on her left shin, and from the mounting pain she was feeling in it now, she was afraid it might be broken. Between gritted teeth, she murmured, "Stupid! How could I have been so stupid? This had 'trap' written all over it." From small openings on either side of the hallway, heavy-caliber slugs began hammering away at her dome. It was no strain to stop them, but she was surprised at how much energy the steady rain of ultra-high-velocity lead was imparting to the field. There was so much dust and smoke in the air that she couldn't see any of their attackers. Trouble lay alongside her, not attempting to rise. Violet shouted, "Trouble! Turn it on! Time to make with the backfires and stuff!"

There was no reply.

She said, "Come on, Trouble, I can't see 'em to fight 'em! A little help here!"

Still the other girl didn't respond. Violet turned over and really _looked_ at Trouble then, and shrank back in horror. The girl's entire right shoulder area was a red mess. A thin spar of wood jutted up out of her left thigh. She was out cold, and bleeding badly.

Favoring her leg, Violet scooted over next to her friend and tried to examine the wounds, but she was no kind of doctor and couldn't really tell anything except that Trouble was in _**very**_ bad shape. She glared around in fury at the haze filling the hallway. With an inarticulate curse she flung a large two-dimensional scythe to each side where some of the fire seemed to be coming from. She thought she heard cries of pain, and the bullets stopped.

That was when she noticed movement at the end of the hall. The dust was beginning to settle a bit, and she saw that the wall with the door in it was gone. In its place was a machine, a sort of mad-scientist's version of a miniature howitzer. No one was manning it, but it had small tractor treads and was obviously self-propelled. The stubby barrel aimed at them and she didn't even have time to gasp as a brilliant green beam smacked the side of her field, dug in, and began to eat its way through.

The pain doubled, and then doubled again, the hideous feedback from the interaction of the two energies driving molten spikes of agony through her brain. Some of the high-speed fire from the left and right resumed hammering her field. Violet held her head and moaned, falling onto her back. She was seeing two or three of everything, her hold on consciousness getting more tenuous by the second.

But then something slammed into the device, and it spun partway around, targeting not the force field, but the wall on their left. The stream of bullets from that quarter ceased. Violet panted and raised herself up on one arm to see what was going on. Was this a trick? Or did they have an ally they knew nothing about?

A slim figure, dressed entirely in black and wearing a full-coverage helmet, leaped from behind the energy weapon, pulled a pair of side arms, and proceeded to blast away at the hole in the wall on the right. He dodged and swerved and rolled and finally jumped right into the opening. In seconds, the fight was over. The black figure came walking out of the hole then, examining and holstering one of his guns. He went over to the still-pulsing ray machine, looked it over briefly, and flipped a couple of switches. Its bright, actinic beam winked out, and he then trotted over to the edge of Violet's field.

He shouted, "вы совсем правые?" Her head pounded so badly his question barely registered on her mind. The entire world sounded like it was made of cascading water. Her Russian wasn't good enough yet to deduce what he wanted to know, but she was getting very close to the point of not caring about it anyway. The blinding pain left in the wake of that energy beam was not something she could ignore.

He reached out and placed a hand on the force field. Then he pointed at Trouble. "она умрет."

Violet flopped back down. _Friend_, her mind told her. _This must be a friend. He stopped those who were trying to kill you …_

A sudden, piercing whistle began, Violet clutched at her ears, and the man in black whirled around to stare at the odd weapon. A red light on the control box was flashing. With one fluid movement he darted around to the lee of Violet's field and crouched as low to the tiles as he could get. Four seconds later there was a loud detonation, and the weapon vanished into a storm of smoking debris and tiny bits of molten metal, removing most of the front of the house in the process. Their floor sagged and tilted several degrees in that direction, pieces of ceiling raining down around them.

The newcomer stood back up, cautiously looking over what was left of the end of the hall. He dusted off one arm and turned back to the force field, pointing from himself to Violet.

She let the field lapse. But she had neither the energy nor the will to make any move. In the background, she could hear the thin wail of sirens. She could practically _**see**_ the noise, so acute were the lances of pain in her head.

He stepped to her side, knelt, and said something else she didn't understand, to which she replied, "Don't … speak … Russian."

"Ah. English, then." He reached up and pulled off his helmet. "So you _are_ Invisigirl!"

She looked at him dazedly. His eyes were an odd shade of blue-green. Turquoise? Aquamarine? And his hair framed his face in soft, black curls. An idle thought tripped through her mind, _Nice hair!_ But it fled and only pain remained. At that point three police cruisers raced up to the street outside and several officers jumped out and ran to the house. Two of them drew a bead on the man in black, but he stood and held his arms away from his sides as he called out to them in a clear voice.

Three police officers got to the second floor in not too many seconds. One of them began working on Trouble, one spoke rapidly into his radio, and the third asked Violet a question. The black-garbed man touched the officer on his sleeve and said something to him. The policeman nodded and said something else, which Violet's newfound savior translated for her. "He says an ambulance will be here in less than two minutes. Your friend is badly hurt. She has lost much blood. He says she may die."

"No! My fault!" The effort it took to get past the pain in her head was immense. "I should have known … was a trap." She gasped twice and said, "She can't … die."

He knelt beside her again, sparing a quick glance for the policeman. "Miss?" he said, getting her to look him in the eye. "I am called Reckoning. You can trust me. I promise you that I will do all I can to see to it that she doesn't die." He sat with her, cradling her head on his lap, keeping her talking and lucid until the ambulance arrived. He stayed with her as the med-techs treated Trouble, got her stabilized, and loaded the grievously injured girl into the ambulance. He stayed with her as she was cared for in turn; translated for her as she was told that while she had a nasty bruise on her tibia, her leg was not broken; and offered her a ride when she made it very plain that she had no intention of going to the local hospital. One of the med-techs gave her some heavy-duty painkillers, which she gratefully swallowed.

He carried her gently out of the ruined building and down the street to the alley where his car was parked. He very carefully, very gently placed her in the passenger seat and got her comfortably arranged. His driving was smooth and circumspect as they entered the street. When they passed the front of the house, he slowed for a last look. A dozen-plus corpses and pieces thereof were lined up on the ground where they had been pulled from the house. He allowed himself a tiny smile.

Even though Violet's injuries were worse than he had projected, in the final analysis this ploy had worked to perfection. The information he had fed the criminal gang concerning the demise of the supers had totally hooked Trouble, just as he had anticipated. Violet Parr was now in his debt. He wouldn't even have to pay the gang the remaining seventy percent of what he'd promised them for killing Trouble, since she still lived and all the mobsters in the house were dead, or as good as dead. The few that had been working outside reconnaissance and escaped an immediate death hadn't been there to witness his duplicity, and so would have to assume that the female supers simply had been too much for them. He could take care of those few later, if the need arose. Violet's force-field scimitars had taken out more than half of the ones who actually took part in the attack, and Ivan had been very careful not to overlook any of the others, as he didn't want word of the double-cross getting back to the wrong ears.

He glanced over at the exhausted and nearly unconscious girl on the seat beside him and smiled. It was with a feeling of great and abiding satisfaction that Ivan Bolodnikov took the road south out of Leningrad, headed for Groznyy.


	9. Chapter 9 Reckoning

Chapter Nine

"This is about as basic as it gets, Shield. You can_**not**_ just waltz in here with someone in tow that I haven't checked out!"

"Look, Piotr," said Violet with some determination, "you can say what you want. I know what I saw, and I say he's okay."

"And I say," he answered, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis, "that no unauthorized, unknown, unregistered super has any business being in CCK headquarters!"

Violet was unfazed. "So authorize him! Good Lord, what does somebody have to do around here to get a little respect?" She shifted her weight uncomfortably in her chair, trying to find a position where her leg didn't hurt. They'd given her some pretty good pain relievers, but then she'd been banged up _very_ thoroughly. "Blast it, Piotr, he saved my life!"

The object of this disagreement sat in a chair in one corner, warily watching the others in the room and nervously picking tiny bits of mortar out of the weave of his black suit. Occasionally he would glance upward and back at the being to his left. Morph had taken it upon himself to perform guard duty over the new super. His current form resembled nothing Violet had ever imagined: a roughly ovoid hemisphere, he fairly bristled with pincers and claws and razor-like edges, and every surface gleamed with a sheen reminiscent of polished antimony. She'd seen him once during a practice bout, and knew that no matter what form he took or how massive he became, over short distances he could move with a starkly hellish speed. If he decided that Reckoning was a threat, he'd make quick work of him, of that Violet had no doubt.

Piotr didn't trust this pup that had followed Shield home. But then, he was extremely parsimonious where his trust was concerned, having been burned more than once. He walked over to stand in front of the black-garbed figure and examined him for most of a minute. Finally he said, "What is your name?"

"I am called Reckoning."

"Don't get cute with me, boy. You know what I mean."

Reckoning shrugged and leaned back against his chair with a slight smile. "My given name is Erkki Leinonen. Would you like to see my papers?"

"That would be a good start."

Slowly and carefully, Ivan reached inside a pocket in his suit and removed a passport, which he handed over to Piotr. The liaison didn't bother looking at it. He merely passed it to one of the three armed guards hovering nearby and said, "Have Security check this out." The guard nodded and marched out of the room.

"So," continued Piotr, "Leinonen. That's a Finnish name."

"Which would make good sense, seeing that I am a citizen of Finland."

"You're quite a ways from home. What brings you to Groznyy?"

"She does," he said, waving a hand at Violet, "in a round-about way."

Piotr leaned down until his eyes were even with Ivan's. "I have an _excellent_ sense of humor. All my friends say so. But you are taxing its limits. Why. Are. You. In. Russia?"

Ivan's expression turned serious. "Crime. Or, more specifically, criminals. I took care of a gang of drug smugglers, and traced their bosses back to Leningrad, and from there to Smolensk. That turned out to be something of a dead issue …"

"Dead in what way?"

"Dead in that the three men I was tracking were all dead."

"I see. And that was in Smolensk?"

"Yes. If you are that interested, I can show you the building they were using. And, confidentially, you need to do something about gang violence in that city. It is very bad for tourism."

"Thanks," responded Piotr dryly, "it is always good to get helpful advice."

"Any time."

Piotr prompted, "And after that?"

"After that I went back to Leningrad to see if I could pick up another trail, and I did, sort of. So far as I have been able to reconstruct things, the gang I had been investigating had been in some kind of turf war with the gang you have apparently been interested in. Your gang must be some tough customers of the first order, because my first gang got pretty much wiped out, so I decided to see what kind of damage I could do to this other one, since I already had some intel on them anyway. I took out a couple of mid-level enforcers, squeezed as much info out of them as I could, and tracked the local honcho back to that big house on the east end of the city. I was going to _try_ to see if I could follow them to the main boss, so I infiltrated the house. I had been there for a couple of hours and had managed to get to this room where they had a ton of electronic surveillance equipment when all hell broke loose on Trouble and Invisigirl."

Violet said, "Shield!"

He shrugged and continued, "Shield, then. Sorry. I did not know what was going on, but it took little time to figure it out. I can recognize a damsel in distress when I see one." He spread his hands in the universal gesture of _'what is one to do in a case like this?'_ and said, "Besides, things at home are dull. The Finns are an amazingly law-abiding people. I felt that my talents were being wasted."

"And what would those talents be, if I might ask?"

Reckoning nodded toward a small table on the other side of the room where his four weapons lay in a row. "If I might have one of my guns, I will be more than happy to demonstrate."

"Since when does a super need a gun?"

"My ability is not, of itself, an offensive power. Basically, when using a projectile weapon I can hit whatever I want to hit."

"That's a useful talent, but I wouldn't think it would qualify as a super ability."

"You have not seen what I can do with it, either."

Piotr's eyes narrowed. "Very well. We'll go over to the firing range and you can show me."

"That will be fine. Do you have an obstacle course there?"

"What, in the firing range?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Eh. I will make do."

At Gospodin Kreshcheyev's direction, one of the guards retrieved the weapons and they all trooped out to the firing range. Violet had vague and fractured memories of his entrance on the scene in the gang headquarters, and had kept the impression that he had taken out the assassins in a matter of seconds. She was intensely curious about this odd power Reckoning claimed to have, and rode out to the firing range on Morph's back. He had adopted a form that put her a little in mind of a really big armored centaur … that is, if standard equipment for a centaur included pincers and spikes on his arms, and a long, flexible tail with a wicked-looking stinger at its tip.

At the range, Reckoning requested both of his 11mm pistols, which he placed in their holsters. He stood, loose and relaxed, and said, "What I would like for you to do is have groups of targets pop out randomly. Can you do that?"

"Of course. It's a standard sequence." Piotr nodded to the man running the range and held up three fingers. "Whenever you are ready."

"Go ahead."

The targets began appearing in groups of two to five, at varying distances and separations. As each came up, Reckoning would fire and the target would fall back. He didn't seem to be aiming, just lifting his arms and popping off a shot. He never shot at any target more than once. At the end of the sequence, Piotr called to the man in the booth, "Skev, how did our illustrious sharpshooter do?"

Skev, who was looking at the accuracy readouts, wore a worried frown. He called back, "Sir, I think there's a glitch in the program."

"What glitch?"

"All the scores are the same. I'll try to find out what's wrong."

Reckoning smirked and said, "There is nothing wrong with your program."

Piotr glanced over at him. "How do you know?"

"Have him collect the targets and you will see what I mean."

This was shortly done. When Skev came walking back to the group, he was eyeing Reckoning with undisguised awe. He handed the targets to Piotr without a word and stood there, staring at the man in black.

Piotr looked through the targets then cocked an eyebrow at their guest. "Okay, how'd you do it?"

Reckoning shrugged. "How does Morph, here, change his shape? How does Shield manufacture her force fields?" He leaned toward Piotr. "I do not _know_ how I do it. All I know is that I _can_, and I have been able to for several years."

Violet had Morph snitch the targets for her so she could examine them. In every case, the hole was in the exact, geometric center of the highest-scoring area. In some, it was a simple round bull's-eye, in others it was a human outline. If the high score was on the head, that's where he'd shot; if on the torso, then that's where the bullet had passed through.

Skev said, "Fourteen hundred out of fourteen hundred. I would say that this score is impossible, except that I'm standing here looking at it. The current record-holder shot a twelve-sixteen, and that had not been matched in almost a decade."

Reckoning asked, "Do you have mobile targets?"

Skev nodded. "If you mean targets that move across the field of fire, sure. How complex would you like it to get?"

"Throw me some curves. Be creative."

"Yes sir!" And he scooted back to the booth.

Violet asked, "What are you doing now?"

"Proving a point."

Piotr said, "Leave him alone. I want to see this."

Reckoning said, "Hand me that machine pistol." This was done, and he checked out the drum with one sensitive finger tip. He did something to the pistol, it clicked, and the drum came off in his hand. He exchanged it for a different one that he produced from somewhere else on his person. Then he wrapped both hands around the stock and said, "Do it."

Targets began zipping around the range, and Reckoning's machine pistol spoke. The reports were accompanied by a weird, ringing overtone that made Piotr's eyebrows rise in recognition. At the end of the sequence, the liaison asked to examine the pistol. Reckoning handed it over and Piotr took it almost reverently.

"What kind of propellant are you using in those bullets?"

"I do not know the chemical he used, but I asked the maker for a supersonic muzzle velocity, and that is what I got. I am happy with it."

"Those bullets sounded like they were going a lot faster than Mach 1."

"They do. Over Mach 5."

Skev had been collecting targets and they heard him giggling as he walked among the bunkers. He came back and handed them to Piotr, grinning like an idiot.

"What's so funny?"

"I collected them in the order that he shot them. Look at them."

The first target had an array of holes in its center that dotted out a perfect letter 'D'. The second target showed them an 'O'. After putting them all out in a line, the message read, 'DOES-THIS-CONVINCE-YOU-NOW?'

Piotr looked at Reckoning in disgust. "Okay. You made your point."

He executed a silent and abbreviated bow.

Skev picked up the targets, said, "These are going on my wall," and walked away laughing.


	10. Chapter 10 Worry

Chapter Ten

The other three members of Team Incredible had been out on assignments of their own when Piotr called to tell them that Violet and Trouble had located the gang behind the killings. Of course they made all due haste to join them in the stake-out, but they all changed course and got back to headquarters in record time when they heard what happened to the girls. Helen didn't _quite_ cry over her daughter – at least, not in front of the Soviet supers – but she kept a protective arm around her shoulders; and Bob just about shook Reckoning's hand off in appreciation. Dash sat down in front of his sister and fired off dozens of questions about the actual attack, most of which Violet couldn't answer. It left him more than a little frustrated. Piotr wasn't much more help.

"We think it is of a type with the previous, and more successful, assassinations. If your Shield here had not been with Trouble, she would be dead, of that we are certain. Our intelligence arm is convinced that the attackers – who were all members of the same gang – did not know anything about Shield. Though they were supremely prepared to take out _our_ super, they were not able to get past Shield's defenses."

"I don't know so much about that, Mr. Kreshcheyev," said Violet, as she hobbled over to join the conversation. "That ray machine really gave me what for. It was actually eating into my force field, if you can picture that." She touched a finger to her forehead. "And you absolutely would _**not**_ believe the pain it caused."

"Yes, it would probably do that, too. But we think it was designed to negate a super's power."

"Was there enough of it left to study? It looked pretty thoroughly demolished, from what I can remember."

"Study? Not really, no. There wasn't enough left to determine even that it had been a weapon. But when Reckoning knocked it away from you and toward some of the assassins, it had a very strange effect on them." He glanced over at the black-clad super. "They are all still comatose, by the way. And as far as our doctors can determine, all higher brain functions have ceased in the three men who got hit with the ray. There's enough left of the hind-brain to keep the heart and lungs working, but that's about all."

Ivan gave an uncaring shrug. "Breaks my heart. They all deserved to die."

"Be that as it may, you killed all the ones in the other room." He glanced over at Violet. "That is, all the ones that didn't get diced when Shield threw a field at them. It would have been helpful to have at least one of the gang alive to extract some information from him." His brows drew together in disapproval. "That guy you two stuffed into the trunk would have been a good candidate. It's a real pity he got loose."

"Look, Piotr, I've said I'm sorry about that! I'm sorry I didn't check the knots, but it wasn't like Trouble was giving me any time to do it. She was all gung-ho to get over to that house and break a few heads."

"Yes, Shield, I realize that." He glanced back at Reckoning. "_**He**_ didn't have that excuse, though."

Ivan commented, "I tend to take it personally when people are trying to kill innocents." This was a manifest untruth. He knew from previous experience with the first prototype beam that it tended to mind-wipe non-supers. With as much extra power as had been added to the semi-portable version – and it was _**considerable**_ – he was sure that even if any of them did eventually wake up, there wouldn't be anybody home, mentally speaking. His secret was safe. "I do not react calmly in those situations. And I do not place my shots so as to give those people a second chance."

"That's understandable, but it doesn't help us right now."

"Eh. Sorry. I will shoot to maim next time."

"Yes. You do that. We don't want to lose any more supers, and finding the one behind all this is our top priority." He looked around at the faces in the room. "It is our _only_ priority."

The guard he had sent out earlier with Ivan's passport came back into the room, accompanied by a small man in a lab coat. He came over to Piotr and whispered something to him, whereupon they all left the room again.

Bob looked over at Morph and said, "Abrupt sort of fellow."

Morph nodded, but said, "Job is much stress. He get ulcers."

"Well, hey, it's not like there isn't any stress in our jobs, you know."

Morph got a thoughtful look on his broad face. He was not a large man (that is, in his 'resting' state) being neither especially tall nor wide. Couple that with his dark brown hair and eyes, and he would not have stood out in any random crowd of people one might assemble. Nor did he have much to talk about, most of the time, but when he did express an opinion, it tended to be fairly well-considered. "Kreshcheyev not say this way, but see us to be … be like his children. His … what is word? We are for him to … take care for?"

"You mean he thinks of you as his responsibility?"

"Da. Is good. His responsibility." He paused again to think. "We lose eight supers in five months. All deaths strange. He is to be, like way Firefox say, going nuts. He is not sleep. He is lose weight. He is worry." He punctuated the thought with a sharp nod. "We is all worry."

Bob didn't have anything to add to that. This state of affairs had, after all, precipitated their being in the USS.

Several rooms away, Piotr Kreshcheyev was looking over a lengthy printout concerning the new super. So far, given the limited amount of time they'd had for research, everything checked out. Erkki Leinonen was twenty-eight, had been born and grew up in Kajaani, near the center of the country, took his degree in Sociology and Public Policy at the National University in Helsinki (graduating fifteenth in his class), and had declared his super status a little over two years ago. There was a short list of items he'd helped the various police organizations with, and he had emigrated back at the end of February. He had no living family: both parents and a younger brother were listed as deceased, killed in a terrorist attack not quite three years ago. _That_, thought Piotr, _would explain much, including his choice of 'Reckoning' as his title. If all this is true, that is. If not …_

He committed most of the pertinent items to memory and tossed the printout onto the table. Then he turned to another man who'd been sitting in the room when Piotr first got there. "Scanner, I want you to stay on this fellow."

"That should be no problem, sir."

"I do not trust him. Not in the least. His story and his background seem to be just a bit too neat and tidy for my liking. Either he is a spy or he has some other ulterior motive for being here. The odds against his being at just the right place, at just the crucial moment to save Trouble and Shield … well, let's just say that I'm having a hard time with that scenario."

Scanner stood and adjusted his suit marginally. "It shall be done, sir. If he is not what he appears, I will find out … and you will know."


	11. Chapter 11 Raisa

Chapter Eleven

Raisa was young, slender, quick-witted, and very limber, a combination that would prove to be useful this day.

The morning had been a typical one – that is, boring and filled with tedious and repetitive tasks. Pavel had assigned her to the rear changing room, just in front of the main garage. She knew the drill, having been on staff at the dacha for nearly seven months now, and so she got to work with the rags and the scouring pads and the tiny brushes and the various squirt bottles of bleach and liquid soap and distilled water. She would have to erase every trace of dust from the room, and given the area's close proximity to the outside, it had more than its fair share of dust. She would be here most of the day.

It's not that she felt like complaining; quite the contrary. She wasn't really the complaining type. Having lived most of her life in the dingy and crumbling concrete complex of free government housing just south of Moscow, she had learned early on that complaining brought no relief; sometimes it would bring a sullen punishment. Her father, a sergeant in the army, had died in combat while fighting separatist insurgents when she was eleven. While she and her mother received a tiny monthly stipend for the loss, it was hardly enough to buy bread. To keep their stomachs from protesting too loudly, her mother worked long hours at a municipal waste plant. She was much too tired and careworn to pay attention to the wants of her daughter, being consumed instead with their basic needs.

So Raisa worked silently. She got paid very little beyond her room and board, but every ruble she received she mailed to her mother. It was good work, compared with the hot, filthy labor her poor mother did every day. It was _especially_ good in contrast to what some of her acquaintances had been reduced to. She didn't think of that often, and put it out of her mind whenever the memory came: the last image she had of her childhood friend, Valya, as the girl was loaded into a truck with several others, on their way to a brothel on the western border. She would never forget the lost, haunted look in Valya's eyes. That vision almost invariably segued in her mind to the look on the face of the man driving the truck, when his close-set, beady black eyes caught Raisa's ice-blue ones: that knowing grin, that frankly appraising leer that left her feeling soiled and sent her scurrying quickly away. Raisa couldn't imagine … she thought she would rather die than … how could Valya _**do**_ that? She shuddered and scrubbed the bench harder. Her cousin Aleksei had gotten her this position, and she was most grateful to him – or had been until recently, when things really began to get strange. For the last two weeks, everyone had been walking on eggshells. Lord Tar had kept entirely to himself, and Pavel had warned her to stay as far away from him as she could manage; as if she hadn't been doing that already.

It was not far from lunch when the visitors arrived. She heard the car pull into the garage, dejectedly tossed her cleaning rag into the bucket, and sighed in frustration, pushing her thick, blond bangs out of her face for the umpteenth time. They would shortly undo everything she had done all morning, even if all they did was open the door. The wind never stopped here. It rarely even slowed. And always, _always_ it carried with it the bitter dust from the lake shore. She gathered her cleaning tools and retreated to the servants' kitchen to wait until the visitors left before resuming her work. Pavel would understand. He had done this job himself more than once.

She placed the bucket with her equipment behind the pantry door and pulled a stool over to the high bar that ran alongside the buffet. Although he was maniacal about cleanliness, Lord Tar never seemed to care how or when the servants took their meals. Consequently, they had worked out an arrangement among themselves that pleased everyone: a buffet of pickled eggs, cold meat, fruit, bread, and assorted other items was made available every morning before dawn, and one of the servants was charged each day with keeping it stocked. They took it in turns to perform this duty, and it soon became routine. A few of the servants had gained quite a bit of weight under this system, but no one cared enough to make an issue of it. Raisa helped herself to a few slices of roast lamb with which she made a thick sandwich. A ripe pear and a tall glass of water completed her snack, and she sat down to enjoy her short rest.

She heard the visitors come by soon after, their temporary footwear clop-clopping along the inlaid hardwood hallway out to Lord Tar's rooms. She didn't envy them. She'd met the Master of the dacha but once, and that had been plenty. He had frightened her then, though he'd not said a word to her, and what she'd learned of him since did nothing to ease that fear. She did her utmost to stay out of his way. Frankly, they all did. A few times she had been part of a detail that moved things around for the Master (seemingly at random, as far as she could tell), so she knew the basic layout of his rooms. But to her relief she'd never encountered him any of those times.

She was rinsing off her plate and glass in the big sink some minutes later when she heard the first muffled crash. That was shortly followed by a high-pitched scream that was cut off in the middle. The hair stood erect on her neck. The sounds were coming from the front of the big house, from the direction of Lord Tar's rooms.

She darted over to the hall, intent on retreating to the rear of the house. Maybe she could find some place to hide in the garage. But as she got to the door she saw one of the older menservants, Misha, running past. He'd made it only a couple of steps beyond the doorway when a large silver-framed mirror came scything down the hall and through his neck, striping the floor with his blood. His head bounced off the opposite wall and came to rest in the middle of the carpet runner.

Raisa jerked back into the kitchen and jammed her knuckles against her mouth, swallowing a scream. _It has happened!_ _The Master is on the rampage! Hide! Hide!_

She looked around frantically for something to crawl under, something to crouch behind. But the end of the buffet faced the door. The pantry was too full, and so were the cabinets. She knew none of the windows would open. Lord Tar had seen to that. Eyes wild, she cast about for refuge. She could hear him shouting, hear him coming.

The refrigerator? The doors locked from the outside, but maybe … maybe there was room behind it? She ran over and looked, her heart leaping with fierce joy when she saw that, yes, there _was_ room behind the big, industrial cooling unit. She tucked herself into the gap seconds before the raging being arrived at the kitchen door.

She heard a prolonged cracking sound and then he yelled incoherently. There was another crash and something metallic-sounding ricocheted off the front of the refrigerator with enough force to mash it into her before it rocked back forward. The blow had caused it to edge away from the wall a little more, and it was then that she noticed the air vent.

The grate over the vent was gone. Someone evidently had thought it superfluous in this position, hidden away behind the refrigerator, and she gave silent thanks for her luck. She edged over and worked her legs into the opening, twisted around sideways and slithered in backwards. She scooted herself back, away from the opening, away from the room, away from the madman who was tearing the house apart. Her feet hit an obstacle, and she shortly determined that she was in a side-duct coming from the main feeder. She crooked and squinched and contorted herself until she had slipped entirely into the larger duct, then moved back another meter or so from the intersection. There, she waited.

Lord Tar did not stay in the kitchen for more than a few seconds, regardless of how it had seemed to Raisa. He longed to crush and kill and destroy, and there was no one in there ready to hand upon which he might vent his spleen. He had ripped off a section of doorframe and hurled it across the room where it knocked a heavy cast iron pot off a counter and into the refrigerator. Then he had gone back into the hall, searching for prey.

His visitors had not brought him good news. Ivan Bolodnikov was hardly his only source of information. He was not even Lord Tar's primary source, and they both knew it. No, this latest missive came from one of his other lieutenants, an older man who had been in The Demon's employ for nearly two decades. To deliver the message he had wisely sent two overly-ambitious underlings he wanted to get rid of.

The huge, yellow-eyed crime lord hunted through his house, looking for someone to blame, someone upon which to take out his frustration. Ever since Project Vulcan had been destroyed some two weeks back his temper had been whisper-thin, and this last bit of news finally broke the dam.

_North American supers! Here! Here, in his beloved Russia! Fouling the Motherland with their vile breath! Poisoning the people's minds with their lies!_

_Unconscionable!_

_It was not to be borne!_

_Death!_

_Death to them!_

_Death to them all!_

He shortly flushed out a group of servants that had been hiding in a guest-room closet. One died quickly, another not quite so quickly, and the other three scattered. He followed one back to the kitchen where the young man cowered in a corner, begging for mercy. The Demon picked him up and flung him with all his might into the far wall, where he left a substantial dent. He collapsed to the floor, unmoving. Lord Tar then leaped across the buffet, grabbed the damaged refrigerator, hoisted it above his head, and brought it crashing down on the unfortunate servant.

Raisa heard the commotion as first the servant and then Lord Tar came into the kitchen. She heard the man – she thought it was Vladmiri by his voice – begging for his life, and heard that life snuffed out. She ground her knuckles into her teeth to keep from crying out, the hot tears of terror running down her nose to merge into the fabric of her shirt. There was a heavy scraping sound, and then light poured into the duct. Too frightened to blink, even to breathe, she held completely still until the weighty appliance met the tiles in a resounding crash. Even at that she only jerked a little. Then Lord Tar screamed again, an unholy, inhuman sound that reverberated eerily in the ducting, and she realized that he was _right there_ beside the opening, he was _right there_ only a few meters from where she lay, neatly wedged in place and helpless … he was _right there!_ The raw edge of her fear made her nauseous and dizzy. _Please let me not get sick! Not here, not now!_ She willed her gorge back down, breathing as slowly and as deeply as she could manage. The insane creature in the kitchen knocked a few more things apart, and then she heard him leave.

Lord Tar tore around his dacha in a frenzy for close to an hour before he got himself under control. He later learned – though he didn't particularly care – that six of his staff had perished during his fit, besides the two visitors who had died first. But none of that mattered to him now. _They_ had taken the initiative. It was now on _their_ heads, the consequences were all their own doing. The NSA had committed the unpardonable sin of venturing onto his native soil. The time for contemplation was past. The time had come for action. That time was now.

He wrote out several lengthy encoded messages, and spent a dogged half hour digging out enough servants to deliver them. Once they discovered that his rage had passed, they quietly went about letting the others know. They drew up a tally of the missing and the murdered, which hiding places had failed and which had not (keeping careful track of those for future reference), and began making arrangements to ship the bodies of the deceased back to their families, if any. It was with a heavy heart that Pavel undertook to write those letters. And he had no idea what he was going to tell Raisa's mother. She was presumed dead, but as yet they hadn't discovered where Lord Tar had stuffed her corpse.

Pavel needn't have worried. Raisa later emerged from the air duct and smuggled herself out of the dacha in the space between the trunk and the rear seat of one of the cars that the messengers took. She had decided that her new top priority would be seeking a better place of employment … preferably somewhere _without_ life-threatening madmen.


	12. Chapter 12 Mercenary

Chapter Twelve

Lord Tar's messages arrived at their intended destinations either late the following day or early on the day after that. Four of them detailed what his western contingents were to do to rid the Motherland of the presence of North Americans; one of them contained directions for his small but heavily-armed and highly mobile pirate fleet to relocate to the northeastern Pacific; and one very lengthy, very vitriolic response was sent back to the man who had authored the message that had upset The Demon so fatally.

When that man, one Grigoriy Martinov, decoded and read the document, he paled and slumped back in his chair. Slowly he re-read the entire message, making sure that he understood Lord Tar's intentions. Then he read it a third time, taking detailed notes. Finally, he called his first assistant and had him set up a meeting for that night after supper.

Grigoriy spent the remainder of the daylight hours in meditation and planning, not having much appetite. When the meeting time came, he waited until he was sure to be the last one in, then entered the long room. Half a dozen of his picked, trusted men were seated around the table, and at the far end stood a large and imposing man dressed in what looked suspiciously like a uniform. It wasn't one of the recognized standards of the USS military, though. Grigoriy came to the opposite end of the table and faced him.

"Good evening, Colonel Derevenko. It was good of you to come on such short notice."

"Thank you, Gospodin Martinov. But your man impressed upon me the urgency of your situation. I could hardly refuse," he answered, his eye taking on an avaricious glint, "especially in light of the sum that he mentioned."

"Yes, well … this is a most delicate venture, one where there is no margin for error." He shook his head decisively. "No margin at all."

"Surgical precision is our stock and trade, as you know. It's what we get paid for."

"Yes, indeed. My master wished me to convey to you his satisfaction with our earlier dealings, and his hope that you would be able to repeat that degree of success."

"You may thank him for me, and assure him that it won't be a problem."

"I will do so."

"Now," said the Colonel, "what is this project you need my help with?"

In answer, Grigoriy activated a large remote monitor on the wall to his left. While it was accessing the necessary documents, he said, "You will need your entire team for this action, Colonel, and you will …"

"My _entire_ team?"

"Yes."

"I only needed two hundred and fifty to subdue an entire central-African nation!"

"Nevertheless, you will need them all this time."

"I have almost seven hundred on staff. We haven't _ever_ had to use all of them for one action, and I can't imagine why we would do so now."

"With all due respect, Colonel, you've never performed an exercise of this nature before."

Colonel Derevenko decided to forgo further protest and wait to see the rest of the plan.

"As I was saying, you will not have a very large window in which to work. Timing is critical. In addition to the many formidable physical barriers to incursion, the target zone is a maze of electronic detection wizardry, and is widely considered to be impenetrable by any force large enough to do significant damage. Your men will need to get in and out with all due speed and a level of stealth that would put a ninja to shame. At the same time, they will have to deal with upwards of a thousand combat-hardened and highly trained Special Forces troops, and at least three supers of unknown powers and strength."

"You intrigue me, Gospodin Martinov. What is this task that it can require an operation of such magnitude?"

Grigoriy pointed at the screen, where two maps were displayed side by side. One was a topographical map of the area around St. Paul, Minnesota. The other was a satellite image of a large, fortified compound.

The Colonel's eyes narrowed. "Is that what I think it is?"

"If you think it is the political headquarters of the North American Union, then yes."

"This is the place we are to go?"

"Yes."

"My interest is officially piqued." He walked over to the screen and pointed to the compound. "This is the second most heavily-fortified area on the planet. You know that, do you not?"

"Yes."

"And you wish to … not blow it up, obviously, or we wouldn't be talking. You wish to infiltrate it?"

"Again, yes. Infiltrate and access one particular individual."

"Hmm. Access, you say." He paused to consider the issue. "And who is in there that only my men and I can get to?"

"Doctor Joseph Franklin Brandt."

Colonel Derevenko's look was frankly skeptical. "The President? You want us to assassinate the President of the NAU?"

"No." Grigoriy took a deep breath. "Lord Tar wishes you to _kidnap_ him."


	13. Chapter 13 Training

_(Sorry for the delay, folks. Had to be out of town over the weekend. I'll put up two today.)_

Chapter Thirteen

Leo sat in his recliner, eyes closed, pondering his next course of action. At least, he preferred to think of it that way, rather than admitting to himself that he was really just putting off the inevitable as long as he could.

_A man, and yet not a man …_

_Alive, and yet not alive …_

_A man, and yet not a man …_

_Alive, and yet …_

Always, he came back to the same conclusion. He needed more information. In all other things his abilities – whatever they might be called – never led him astray. He had verified enough 'Seeings' to be comfortable with that. If his talent told him this unnamed enemy of the world was a man, and yet not a man, then he didn't need to question the facts. He had only to find out what those facts meant.

But what that _meant_ was getting closer to this 'not-man', and he was frankly terrified of doing so. He had visions of glowing yellow eyes, of an implacable and undying hatred, of an ancient need for violence and mayhem and chaos and death. If he didn't know better, he'd think it was a demon straight out of one of his Nana's stories.

But … _did_ he really know better? Who could say it was not some sort of evil spirit-being? And if it was, what, if anything, could he do about it? _No, no, that's not right. You're losing it, Leo. He's __**not**__ an evil spirit, he's a __**man**__ … well, partly, anyway._

More information. That's what he needed. That's what he had to get. And that's exactly what he hadn't been able to screw up the courage to go after.

Perhaps he could contact this 'Kitsune' again. He had tried several times in the last few days, but with no success. Either she (yes, definitely 'she') was too far away, or she was resisting his questing thoughts. In their last encounter she had seemed … well, he couldn't really call the being friendly. She did refer to him as 'brother', though. Cordial, maybe. As when a distinguished and very busy statesman addresses a child, not having time to talk at any length, yet not wanting to hurt that child's feelings …

That possibility didn't frighten him, but it made him decidedly uncomfortable.

What, what, _what_ to do?

He sighed in temporary defeat and decided to stall for time by checking up on Ivan again first. He'd rather not have his brother give him a surprise visit while he was 'out'. That would precipitate any number of unpleasant events. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, brought the silver nimbus of that strange plane into view … and leaped.

Ivan may have been quite close or far off, but either way it didn't take 'long' to 'find' him. Leonid hoped he could one day come up with some better terms to use to express what he felt, what he experienced in this other-world, but the earth-bound terms he'd grown up with would have to suffice for now. He 'settled' alongside a wall and listened in.

He was getting better at this telepathic snooping, a fact that both pleased and disturbed him. He tried not to delve into anyone's subconscious if he could help it. Most people had legions of ugly things buried down there, either things they had done or things they'd had done to them, and while most individuals had had the time to develop the psychic calluses necessary in dealing with the pain on a day-to-day basis, Leo had not. The sensation of running into someone's buried fear or torment was usually unpleasant and sometimes downright harrowing. On two occasions the degree of revulsion had been so great as to forcibly eject him back into his body. He did his best to keep those memories closed off or, if possible, stripped from his mind entirely. That was the only way he could sleep.

This time was fairly easy and straightforward. A conversation was not too hard to follow, as long as he concentrated on each speaker in turn. The one talking would always have, at the top of his mind, the things he was speaking about at that instant. Of course the background would be full of flitting images running around the main topic, but they were simple enough to tune out. It did no good (usually) to try to hear through the listener's mind what someone else was saying. Nine times out of ten the listener was only following the words with maybe a quarter of his attention, if he listened at all; the rest was occupied with formulating what he would be saying next. Leo found that habit – and habit it was for most people – maddeningly irritating.

Ivan was sitting in a room around a long oval table with several others, one of whom was the girl he'd been so obsessed with these last many weeks. Leo looked at her, then at the redhead sitting beside her, then back at her, studying her face. Both women were knockouts, though he could tell from a cursory skim of the top of her mind that the redhead was quite a few years ahead of the other girl. A very large bald man sat to the redhead's left and a small man to his left. Ivan was just to the right of the black-haired girl, and a tall blond fellow sat to his right. A petite and _**very**_ darkly-tanned blonde girl, another man, and a tall, spare woman with her hair in a severe bun rounded out the group.

Leo tuned in to Ivan's thought-stream, and was struck by the dichotomy between his body language and what was going on in his head. There he sat, to all appearances relaxed and comfortable, simply holding up his end of the conversation. But his mind was a chaotic welter of lust and violence and intrigue and a dozen plans made or modified or discarded each passing minute. _How do you do it, brother? No traces of the frenetic longings that clamor and battle in your mind ever show up in your face. How is that possible?_

The plane-walker listened for a few minutes, collecting the names and personality signatures of each for later reference, and learning that Team Incredible comprised a family group, which surprised him. He'd not previously heard of such an arrangement, and wondered how they could stand knowing that their loved ones were constantly in harm's way. He came back again and again to that black-haired girl, Violet Parr, who thought of herself as this 'Shield' persona. Her mind was … pleasant. Warm. Comforting. Yes, those were good terms for it. He wouldn't mind living in that head. There were hints of pain, physical and emotional leftovers from a recent conflict, but she didn't dwell on them. She was thankful to Ivan – Erkki, as she knew him, not having his real name – and was interested in getting to know him better. Ivan seemed to be aware of that … even to have planned for it. _But how could you have? How could you anticipate her reactions __**that**__ well? Wheels within wheels, it seems. I may never figure out how you do this, brother._ Such Machiavellian scheming was completely alien to Leo's mindset.

Those in attendance were going over what to do with regards to finding the rest of the gang that had been killing off the CCK's supers. Their discussion kept coming back to this whole idea of a criminal organization being behind the operation. They CCK apparently assumed it was some kind of conspiracy, and _that_ gave Leo much to ponder. Ivan was not a registered super with the CCK. He had not been part of the international invitation that brought the Incredibles here. How had Ivan managed to become a member of this team? It beggared explanation. Did he have yet another power, some talent for mind-clouding with which Leo was unacquainted?

No. He discarded that notion quickly. If his brother could do anything along those lines, Leo would have known by now. Ivan was simply _**that**_ good. He had fooled Leo all those years. Indeed, he would still be under his older brother's sway, were it not for these nascent psychic gifts. Though the prospect frightened him, he sometimes longed, just a little bit, for those more innocent days when he hardly ever had to worry about anything more complicated than whether Ivan would come home late for supper. _For that matter,_ he reflected bleakly, _as long as I'm wishing for things, I could wish that Mother and Father were still alive. That would have saved __**everyone**__ a tremendous amount of trouble._

In any case, Leo determined where the meeting was being held. He knew it wouldn't be possible for Ivan to get to the lab from his present location in Groznyy in under two hours, and from the looks of things this meeting would last another few hours by itself. He took one final long – and longing – look at Violet Parr before allowing himself to 'fall' back toward his body, and shortly he opened his eyes. Yes, there was that hunger again. Strange, how this plane-walking – if that's what it was – gave him such an appetite. His cravings were all about fruit lately, and he'd stocked up on bananas and pears. Three of the former disappeared just about as fast as he could swallow.

He disposed of the remains, washed his hands, and went over to the central workbench where he took out the teleportation device and set about calibrating the second-tier mass-balance compensator. The first time he'd used the thing, to pop from one side of the room to the other, he'd come in about half a meter off the floor and landed so hard he'd almost sprained an ankle. Taking into account the Earth's motion through space-time required reams of really hairy equations that would be daunting for even a sharp research team, but Leo's technical intuition made most of them unnecessary. He had bags and bags of luck where that sort of thing was concerned.

He worked on his design for three-quarters of an hour, and then set up the coordinates for a short trip. He had precisely measured the spherical vector between a spot in his lab and another in one of the remote storage bays. He turned on the monitor and tuned in the area in question, where a circle was drawn on the floor in white chalk. He got a white rat in a small, gyroscopically stabilized cage, placed it in the exact center of the workbench, placed the teleporter on the cage, and stepped over to a pendant control. He tapped in three sets of numbers and flipped a switch, whereupon the cage and the teleporter vanished with a subdued pop. He noted with displeasure that a thin scoop of bench-top had gone with it. Nevertheless, on the monitor the rat could be seen sniffing around, and the device had landed less than a hand-span from the center of the circle. That was definitely progress.

He tapped in another array of numbers and flipped the switch again. There was no sound as the cage reappeared. The rat, an old hand at this instantaneous travel thing by now, just flicked his whiskers and munched his pellets. To Leo's delight, it occupied exactly the same spot that it had before its trip, missing section of bench and all. That meant that his compensators were working exactly right, it was just his coordinate calculation that needed a bit of work.

With a comfortable degree of satisfaction, he put the evidence away and spread a lot of electronic junk out on the work space. He used a few drops of a fast-acting high-strength adhesive he had concocted on the separated piece of bench-top to get it back where it belonged, and even looking closely he could see no crack. Well and good.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands and sighed deeply. Looking at his watch, he could see that it was still early, not even supper time yet. _Oh, well. No more excuses. Might as well get it over with. After all, what can happen? I'm not tangible in that form. It isn't like he can just reach out and grab me … right?_

Yeah, right.

He got comfortable in his chair again and closed his eyes, but he'd hardly more than stopped moving when he felt that other entity. His heart quickened in a joyful harmonic to the soundless streaming paean that called to him. He fair raced along the silvery pathways until he settled into her presence, at once surprised by her form, for it was no fox that faced him, but a small Asian woman. Though evidently mature, he had little in the way of clues as to her age. He only knew that she didn't seem 'old'.

_**WELCOME, BROTHER**_

There was that tremendous overburden of power again. He averted his eyes and answered her.

[ [ thank you … I felt you call … ] ]

_**WE HAVE THINGS TO DISCUSS AND I CANNOT LEAVE MY HOMELAND**_

[ [ where is that? ] ]

_**NIPPON … I AM ITS GUARDIAN …  
**__**BUT THAT IS NOT IMPORTANT …  
**__**YOU NEED TO KNOW MANY THINGS**_

[ [ yes, I have sensed that … I lack knowledge of so many aspects of this plane … I need to learn more of the threat that is coming … but I am afraid ] ]

_**TO FEAR A GREAT DANGER IS WISDOM …  
**__**BUT YOU MUST FACE THAT WHICH YOU FEAR**_

[ [ how can I do this? can you help me? ] ]

_**I HAVE BEEN PREPARING TO WORK WITH YOU …  
**__**I WILL SHOW YOU A THING …  
**__**YOU HAVE GREAT POTENTIAL …  
**__**YOUR MIND HOLDS PROMISE OF IMMENSE SCOPE …  
**__**STRENGTH YOU DO NOT REALIZE …  
**__**YET IT NEEDS GUIDANCE**_

He 'felt' her lightly probing parts of his mind, peeking behind doors he didn't know existed, pulling out and examining areas he'd never used. The sensations were weird and irritating and he tried to pull 'away' but she held him immobile. When she scraped open the place where he kept his memory of Violet, he squirmed like a fish on a gaff. Kitsune turned the information over and examined it from all sides, and then smiled to herself. _He does not know yet. But then, the clues are subtle. He may never suspect the possibility exists until the Joining actually takes place. Would that I could be there to witness it._ She did not comment on any of these ruminations to Leo, and went through several dozen more areas before speaking again.

_**PLEASE TRY TO RELAX …  
**__**I WOULD RATHER BUILD UP TO THIS MORE SLOWLY,  
BUT I MUST ASK YOU NOW TO DEFEND YOURSELF**_

[ [ defend ? … wait … I don't understand … what do you mean, I should defend myself?... against what? ] ]

_**YOUR TRAINING NOW BEGINS …  
**__**THIS MAY BE UNCOMFORTABLE AND FOR THAT I APOLOGIZE**_

'Uncomfortable', he later reflected, was the most profoundly hyperbolic understatement he'd ever been assaulted with. She proceeded to shred his psyche in ways he'd not imagined possible. She ripped off his astral head and poured boiling acid down the hole. He was flayed, crushed, smeared across the silver-gray expanse like a paste, sliced into paper-thin sections that blew away in the soundless wind. But, under her direction, he learned what he had to do to counter each attack. At the end of the 'lesson', she carried him back to his body, as he lacked the strength to do it himself.

He was convinced he'd been in that psychic wringer for a week, but when he opened his eyes the clock showed that barely twenty minutes had passed. A savage hunger gripped him; he got up and stumbled over to his refrigerator, and ate until it was empty.

It took three more sessions, over the course of the next two days, before Kitsune was satisfied with his prowess. He questioned her hesitantly about what use he might have for these techniques. She would only tell him that he would know when the time came, and that giving him any details might compromise his progress. She didn't want him to concentrate on one aspect of the mind at the expense of the others. Upon seeing his disappointment with this answer, she told him, gently, that the fate of someone very important to him could hinge upon his mastery of these mental abilities. He could tell from the tone of her thought that this was the only hint he would receive, and contented himself as best he could. But he didn't like it much.


	14. Chapter 14 Trust

Chapter Fourteen

Over the monitors in his private quarters, Taruz Achmedjan watched with flat, hollow eyes as the lead pair of transport trucks in the caravan began disgorging troops. One of his lieutenants stood off to the side to direct traffic, and around to the south end of the complex the first of a dozen dome-shaped buildings of a very unusual polymer-reinforced concrete was going up quickly.

Lord Tar turned away from the computer screen, brooding over his late decisions. He did not regret – not quite – giving the order to abduct the pathetic puppet who headed up the corrupt, effete gaggle of idiots who ran what the NAU laughingly referred to as a government. However, in one of his increasingly rare episodes of lucidity he had realized that retaliation was a possibility … and that might be a problem. To that end, he had examined the defenses of his headquarters, and found them woefully inadequate for repelling an invasion force of the size and strength that could come in the wake of his actions. This last week he had been in a sleepless frenzy of preparation, driving his staff mercilessly, and now he was beginning to feel better about his situation. The new emplacements housing his 85mm long-range particle-beam weapons would keep unfriendly aircraft away, and the newly-arrived mercenaries offered some additional protection from a ground invasion. His dour features bloomed suddenly into delight as another thought bubbled to the top of his mind. He rubbed his hands together and chuckled. These troops would be especially effective given the weaponry with which he could equip them. He would leave them the rest of this day to get settled and prepare for training, and on the morrow he would turn them into the greatest fighting force this dismal, under-developed age had ever known.

He got up and strode into his sleeping chamber, lay down at his full length on the unadorned slab of metal that occupied the center of the room, and pressed a button conveniently located near his left hand. Several dozen tiny wires and tubes snaked up out of recesses in the metal and attached themselves to his body. His eyes fixed into a glassy stare at nothing and didn't move for the next ten hours.

##

"Miss, ah, Shield, please try understand. Even if Trouble _look_ awake she not know you. She is having many sedative."

Violet protested, "I don't care if she knows me or not! I know you guys finished with all your surgery stuff two days ago, and I need to see her. I need to be sure."

"I know how concern you be," the doctor responded in slow and carefully considered English, "but thing she right now most need is rest. Her body has much work to heal."

That was true enough. Trouble's list of injuries went on for half a page. If she hadn't been in such superb shape to begin with, she certainly _would_ have died, paramedics notwithstanding. Broken or shattered bones, soft tissue damage in her neck, concussion, nerve damage in her leg, and massive blood loss. They still weren't entirely sure whether or not she'd suffered any brain damage. She hadn't been conscious since the attack. Best time estimates for her recovery ran from four to six months.

Violet turned back and looked across the large anteroom to where the rest of the group sat, talking earnestly with Gospodin Kreshcheyev. Five of the CCK supers and the rest of Team Incredible were all presenting him, loudly, with good and logical reasons why each of them should be the one to team up with Shield. For some reason she couldn't quite put a finger on, that irked her.

She glanced back at the doctor and said, "You've got my private line. Call me if she wakes up."

"I happy to do. But she not awake for much time. Many days."

"Just call me."

He sighed in exasperation as she slipped past the guard and out the door to the corridor.

The door opened away from her and swung to her right. She looked down the hall to her left, not seeing any exits marked, then let the door swing shut, revealing Reckoning leaning against the wall behind it. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

He uncrossed his arms and stood straight. "Hello. How is she?"

She noted again, with no little interest, his taut, muscular form. "Erk- … um, Reckoning, you shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

"What sneak? I am standing here for the last twenty minutes. I kept thinking someone would come out and I could get a report, but all I get is the brush off. The guard will not tell me anything, much less let me in."

"I guess Kreshcheyev doesn't trust you yet."

"Big news there." He cocked his head to one side, studying her face. "What about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"Do you not trust me still?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You saved my life. I think it'd be more than a little insulting not to extend you my trust after that."

He gave her a mischievous, little-boy grin. "Was hoping you would say that."

"Oh? Why?"

"How would you like to go after the gang that did it?"

"I thought they were all dead."

"The ones who carried out the assassination attempt are dead. The leaders, those who give the orders, are still very much alive. And they are, as you say, pissed off."

"Really?" She looked back at the door. The faint sounds of argument still wafted through it. "You know something they don't?"

"I got a piece of information late last night."

"You _'got'_ a piece of info?"

"Well … yes."

"What sort of information?"

"A possible location for their headquarters."

She gave him a narrow look. "How did you come across that sort of intel?"

"By going to the right sorts of really shady places," he answered with a chuckle, "and eavesdropping on the right sorts of scum."

She dimpled slightly. "Does your mother know you hang out with such a rough crowd?"

His eyes went flat as his mouth drew down into a thin line. "… My mother is dead."

She drew back a fraction at the look on his face. "Ah. I'm sorry."

"The rest of my _family_ is dead."

"Oh. I, um, didn't know."

With a controlled gesture calculated to evoke a high degree of sympathy, he slumped just the slightest bit and dropped his gaze to the floor, seeming to stare off into the past. "Not your … it is … do not worry about it. No way you could know."

She reached up and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. He looked back at her and some of the frost melted out of the lines around his eyes. He patted the back of her hand, and then left his own there. He said, "I am going to go hunting for them. I thought you might like to come along."

"Oh. Just to do _me_ a favor? Is that it?"

He gave his head a slight shake. "Whether _you_ would consider it a favor or not, I do not know. It _would_ be a favor to me. You have an awesome array of abilities, both offensive and defensive, and I would like very much to have some backup on this one." He tossed a nod toward the room where Trouble lay. "The CCK supers still will not give me the time of day. I do not _**know**_ any other expatriate supers I could ask. One of your family, maybe, but I think you would be the most useful one to have along."

"You know, I don't think I can recall being referred to in that way before."

"In what way?"

"As 'useful'. Sounds a bit … utilitarian."

"Nevertheless, you would be a better fit for this task than any of the others."

"Why not just get a few of us together if you're worried about needing some muscle?"

"I want to be as inconspicuous as possible for as long as possible. And two can sneak around better than a big group, especially when one can go invisible and the other has camouflage ability."

"Camouflage? What does that mean?"

For an answer, Reckoning stepped back, opened a small cover on one of his belt compartments and flipped a switch. His suit immediately began to change color, and shortly matched both the shade and texture of the wall behind him."

"Sweet! That's a nice trick."

"Yes. It extends to the helmet when I have it on. Add darkness to the picture, and I might as well be invisible."

Violet nodded. "I like. Where'd you get that suit? Is it government issue, courtesy of Helsinki?"

"Hardly. No, this was made by … by someone very close to my parents. He has kept track of me since they died, and wanted to help."

"Slick! I'd like to meet him some time."

"Maybe … maybe I can arrange that one day."

"Very well." She stepped back up next to him, appropriated his arm with both hands, and steered them up the corridor. "We'll go hunt down these slime-balls. And let's scoot now, before the Responsibility Squad figures out I'm gone and comes looking for me."

"Good idea."

"So, where is this hideout?"

"In the Urals. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of caves, you see, and smugglers and thieves have been using them for centuries … "

_That, _thought Ivan as they made their way out of the complex,_ worked even better than I'd planned._

A few hundred yards away, out of sight and safe from detection, Scanner tracked their movements and monitored their conversation. He followed at a discreet distance.

##

Violet pushed aside the last branch between her and the lakeshore and stepped out beyond the fringe. Reckoning came up beside her.

Gazing at the reflection of the snow-top in the lake's surface, she whispered, "Holy cow."

He glanced down at her and smiled thinly. "Not what you used to think of when you would think of Russia, is it?"

"Oh, _**heck**_, no. Erkki, this is gorgeous! It's like … like the Cascades or the Canadian Rockies or something. Only prettier."

"I am glad you like it." He leaned over until his head was beside hers. "But we are not here for sightseeing."

She wrinkled her nose. "Right. So," and she turned to face him, arms akimbo, "where is this last cave complex they told you about?"

He consulted his compass and pointed. "That way."

Half an hour's covert sneaking got them within sight of the entrance. Both had made themselves as undetectable as they could, but things such as motion detectors would give them away, invisibility or no. Violet used an IR scanner on it and frowned. "No unusual heat sources. Are you _sure_ this is the area he was talking about?"

"I am as sure as my source was." Any more, lying came with such natural ease to Ivan that no polygraph test ever devised would have tripped him up. "I have no way of knowing how old his information was, or whether he was telling the truth, but he seemed awfully certain of himself." He shrugged lightly. "Maybe fourth time is the charm?"

"Let's hope. This is getting old."

They made their way carefully down to the entrance. There was plenty of sign that it had been occupied at some point in the past, but nothing that could be pointed out as having happened recently. A quick check for electromagnetic traffic revealing nothing, they went on into the cave.

A few minutes later, Scanner appeared among the trees. He knelt behind the bole of a large evergreen, listening intently, his fingers restlessly brushing the surface of his recording device.

##

"Another empty file box over here," called Ivan. "You find anything?"

"A few cans. Empty. A busted chair. A busted shelf unit." She trotted over to where he stood, shining her flashlight off to the side so as not to overload his vision equipment. "This totally bites, Erkki."

"Tell me about it." He tossed another empty file folder on the ground and sighed. "Waste of time and gasoline, it looks like."

"I don't see how our perps could have been the ones who used this place. This is the worst one yet. I mean, really, it's pretty darned basic in here. There's no way they could have developed that beam weapon with just these facilities."

"True enough."

"And whoever used it was a mess. This is just ratty."

"Oh, I would not say that. It _could_ be a homey place. It just needs a woman's touch." He patted a wall, ran his hand over a rock formation, and grinned. "And a good generator."

Violet snorted. "Says you. Let's get out of here. Caves give me the creeps."

They walked back out the way they'd come in, and through the previously-locked portal they had encountered about eighty meters in. Reckoning had watched in fascination as Violet cored the area around the handle and then pushed the big, steel door open with one finger. For her part, she had been intrigued by his helmet and the more-than-full-spectrum range it gave him. "Saves me the trouble of having to carry a separate light. I have only so much space on my utility belt, you know."

By the time they had retraced their path to his vehicle, the sun was well toward its berth in the west. Reckoning studied his chronometer and said, "We will never make it back to the regional office today. We will barely make it back to civilization."

"We'd better get started then. Some of those roads we came in over barely deserve the name. I'd hate to have to navigate them in the dark."

##

Her hands waved around animatedly as Violet wrapped up the story. "So we had a big blowup over that and then Tony broke up with me. I'd run out of excuses, he knew I wasn't being entirely truthful, and he couldn't take it. Looking back now I can't say as I blame him. I'd have done the same thing in his shoes, I guess. But I moped about it the rest of that summer, and didn't date at all until the Christmas dance." Her mouth twisted in distasteful memory. "That was a disaster from the word 'go'. Jeremy was a total loser, but his cousin just about got down on her knees and _begged_ me to go with him. Little pimp. Turns out _he_ thought I'd be an easy lay, just because I didn't date. Thought I'd be _grateful_ to him, if you can believe that." She realized what she'd said, blinked, looked over at Reckoning for a second, and blushed furiously. "Oh! … I … I, um … that is … oh, geez."

He glanced over at her. She had quickly scooted away until she was leaning against the passenger-side door, and was obviously very flustered. "What is wrong?"

She mumbled, "Sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

She met his eyes briefly, saw only concern there, and relaxed marginally. "Sorry to dump on you like that. My mouth gets away from me sometimes. Didn't mean to be spreading out my dirty laundry, y'know?"

"Dirty laundry? I do not know that phrase."

"It means … sharing unpleasant little secrets that … that others don't really have any need or desire to know."

"Ah. I see." He shook his head. "You do not need to worry about me. I would venture a guess that nothing you could say would shock me."

"Oh, really?"

"I promise. I have fought against Soviet Mafia, and seen their handiwork on many occasions. I can say with confidence that I am not shockable." He reached over, patted her shoulder, and grinned. "Besides, what you told me shows that you have … nobility. It is no bad thing to protect your integrity."

"Well." His statement surprised her a bit. She hadn't run into very many principled men outside her immediate family. "I'm glad you feel that way."

"So, did he try to … what is the word? Fist himself at you?"

"Foist himself on me?"

"Yes. Foist."

Violet nodded. "Yeah. He did. I'd only really been practicing with my force fields for about a year, and hadn't yet discovered that I could make planes of force or control them remotely. I didn't want to give away my secret identity anyway, so there wasn't much I could do in that respect. But my Mom had started training me in self defense, so I knew a little about pressure points."

"Oh-ho! You made him see things from your point of view, I suppose?"

"Something like that. I ended up walking home, and he totally avoided me after that."

He chuckled. "Good for you." He negotiated a tight turn around a rocky outcrop, and then asked, "So who is your 'significant other' now? He must be a man of integrity as well."

"Oh, I'm, uh … I'm not … dating seriously right now." The admission seemed to depress her slightly.

"Ah. And again, I feel this must be because you have very high standards."

She looked over at him and frowned. "What?"

"Is it not true that men you ask on dates?"

"… Yyyeah."

"Many dates?"

"Well … yes. You could look at it that way. Although, really, there aren't that many that I'd … "

"And yet you have not chosen a prospective mate?"

"Um. No. What's your point?"

"Just so. It is not because men do not desire your company. That would be inconceivable." He spoke that declaration with a level of conviction that touched something in her, and started her wondering about things. "So the choosing is yours. You have not yet found a worthy man."

She blushed again, but was less sure of the cause. "Oh, phooey. I haven't had the time. Superhero work takes up … "

He interrupted, "Word is, as you say, baloney." The passion in his voice seemed to be affecting his command of English. "If Elastigirl and Mr. Incredible can find marry time, you too can. You not have no _time_, you have no _man_. Is truth. You are too better than they."

Not having a ready answer to that, she crossed her arms and faced forward.

Reckoning kept silent for most of a minute, then offered, "I am sorry as well. I did not mean to insult you."

"I'm not insulted."

"But you are … how to say it … uneasy … uncomfortable, maybe? Or embarrassed. And it is my fault. So I apologize."

"Well … thank you."

"You are welcome." He aimed half a smile in her direction. "Maybe I should tell an embarrassing story about me. That might make you feel better."

"Nah. You don't have to do that." She considered his profile for the space of four heartbeats. "I would like to ask _you_ that same question, though."

"What question?"

"Do you have someone you're in a committed relationship with?"

His pause was exactly long enough to clue her in that this was a topic through which she should lightly tread. "Not anymore."

"Um. Did, ah … did hero-work get in the way?"

"No. Bullet got in the way."

"… What?"

"Her name was Nadia. Gang I was fighting found out. Kidnapped her. I tried rescue. They killed her."

And that comment killed the rest of their conversation.

##

The sun set long before they truly got out of the mountains. They spent the night in a rustic hostel in the second tiny hamlet they came to, and rose early the next morning. Neither one seemed inclined to return to the conversations of the day before, and over breakfast they passed the time talking about their most and least favorite college courses.

As they tossed their overnight bags into the trunk, Reckoning looked intently off toward the west. Violet caught the motion and stopped what she was doing, watching him in turn. At length, he turned to her and asked, "Are you in any great hurry to get back to Groznyy?"

"Well … we've been out here for four days. Or, it will be by the time we make it back there tonight. I'm curious to know how things are progressing elsewhere."

"If anything significant had happened, they would have called us."

"Yeah. They would, wouldn't they?"

"And they have not. So nothing major has happened."

"That's a stretch of logic, but I'll give you the point. Why do you ask?"

"There is … a place I would like for you to see."

"What kind of place? Is it a pretty place?"

"I think so."

"Well … okay. Let me call in and get an update. Then you can show me."


	15. Chapter 15 Revelation

Chapter Fifteen

Leo hovered in the vast, shining expanse, letting his newly-strengthened senses roam to their limits. Kitsune had ordered a night and a day of complete rest and meditation in preparation for this effort, and he felt himself as ready as he could be, given the time constraints under which they labored. Kitsune's sense of urgency was infectious, and now he could barely wait to undertake the task.

Hundreds, and then thousands, and then myriads of minds he detected, their thoughts like sparks thrown up from a bonfire, glowing in the silvery mist. He relaxed, melded his telepathic sense with that other one, that one he had as yet no name for, and through it he 'aimed' himself in the 'direction' of the menace, and 'traveled'. His frustration over the inadequacy of language to express his experiences here had not lessened with familiarity. Yet he could see no other way to think about what it was he was doing. Kitsune had offered no guidance in these matters, simply telling him that he would learn what he needed to know with enough practice.

And soon ('soon' in what sense?) he 'arrived' at his 'destination'. He slid down the filmy fabric of this shifting plane, through the roof of a huge and fortified mansion, and into a darkened room. He 'settled' near a massive table of solid metal, and regarded the figure that lay thereon. The man – for a man he seemed – appeared disproportionate, being much too wide for his height. But his condition confused Leo mightily. He was bound to the table with half-a-hundred tiny cables! How could that be, here in the criminal's own secret lair?

No, wait, that was wrong. Leo cast his sensory web into the metal slab and drew up in surprise. The man was … receiving nourishment of some kind?

No, that was wrong, too. Not nourishment. It was … it was …

Leo gasped. _So that's it!_ But … How was this possible? Why, the technology to do this was not even on anyone's blue-sky drawing board! The intricacy and sophistication made his mind spin.

And this man's thoughts … so jumbled … so disoriented … so starkly, fully, poisonously evil. But simple, human thought was _not_ all that was going on here … not by a long shot. There was …

Pain.

The scene clouded and wavered. Abruptly, his view of the mechanism's inner workings was cut off. On the side of the metal dais a light began blinking. Several of the tubes and wires detached and retracted into the slab, then a few seconds later several more, then the rest of them. The man opened his eyes, sat up, and turned his head … to stare at Leo. The man's eyes began to glow with a sulfurous yellow light …

Dread as he had never known overtook Leo. He shot himself out of there and back toward his body with the suddenness of a released bowstring. The mind-numbing malice that had flooded his psyche left a dull ache behind his eyes as he regained consciousness in his comfortable chair. With an effort he heaved himself erect and reached for the plate of fruit he had prepared in advance, knowing he would be hungry. But his hand paused halfway to the plate.

_No time._

_There is no time … no time left._

_I must act._

_Now._

He took two apples with him as he got up and walked unsteadily to his workbench. He shook from his mind the vision of those malevolent yellow eyes, and turned it instead toward his work. He took out the new project he'd begun a week earlier, and examined it. _Yes. I can see now what I was trying to do. This part can stay. This one is all wrong. This won't help at all. This piece, now, I don't know …_

He reached for his tools and got to work.


	16. Chapter 16 Discomfort

Chapter Sixteen

Helen came into the rehab room carrying a pill bottle and a large glass of water, but stopped short as soon as she caught sight of … well, other than the relaxed grin on Bob's face, she wasn't entirely sure at first just what she _**was**_ seeing. He lay there on the massage table, stretched out on his chest, his head turned in her direction. But what in the world was that weird contraption hovering over him? Ponderous and metallic, it stood on four wide-spaced pillars that met in a large, nearly cubic mass about half a meter above her husband. Depending from its underside were several thick bars of some dull, black material, and these appeared to be kneading Bob's back. He gave regular small grunts of appreciation.

Helen slowly walked over, eyeing the curious machine, and said, "Bob, I brought your pain medicine. Can you stop this thing for a minute?" She gave it a brief examination, looking for a power switch. "How do you turn this sucker off, anyway? I don't see a …"

"Is not to be turning off."

Helen jumped back with a small gasp as a grinning face in _bas relief_ appeared on the side of the cube, level with her own. It blew her a raspberry and said, "Is to stop, is okay, but to be turning off is not good."

"Morph!"

The shape-shifter's grin widened. His form flowed, pouring itself down into one of the support legs, and that very quickly reformed into the figure of the little man.

Bob pouted, "Aw, Honey, what'd you go and make him stop for? That felt wonderful."

"Well, it would be _helpful_ if a body could have a little _warning!_" She transferred the pill bottle to the hand with the glass so she could wipe off some of the water she had spilled on herself.

Morph shrugged, still grinning, and headed for the door. "Not to be getting used to it, Mr. Incredible. We do later if you need. Mrs. Incredible to give medicine now." And he disappeared out the door.

She turned back to Bob, who was sitting up and rolling his shoulders around, and asked, "He can turn himself into a _massage machine_?"

"Yep. That's what he was before he got roped into the superhero gig."

"Him? A massage therapist?"

"And a darned good one, if my back is any indication." He jumped off the table and did a few stretches, then struck a dramatic pose, one finger in the air. "Wow! I feel _**grr**__**r**__**r**__**e**__**at!**_"

"Yeah, and you do a really bad Tony the Tiger imitation."

"That's not what they pay me for."

"Right, so don't quit your day job."

"As if." He nodded toward the glass in her hand. "Do I still need to take my meds? My back doesn't hurt."

"Oh, I suppose not." She set the glass and the pills down on the table and turned back to him. "We don't want you getting hooked or anything, now do we?"

"Those are non-steroidal and you know it."

She giggled. "So am I, but you seem to be hooked just the same."

"Ah, but that's different," he responded, pulling her close. "See now, that addiction's a beneficial …"

A two-toned claxon sounded, cutting him off. They looked at each other and frowned, then left the room at a fast jog.

It took them less than a minute to get to the control room. Kreshcheyev was out; it was being manned by one of his underlings, who turned to them in evident relief. He held out the com unit and stated, "Is Shield, to speak with Incredibles." Helen snatched the unit from him, gave the console a quick scan, and said, "Beta secure."

"Mom? Hey, it's me."

From the tone of her voice, Helen could tell that Violet wasn't in any trouble. She let go a short, almost exasperated breath, and said, "So I had gathered from the emergency signal that got broadcast through the whole facility."

"Emergency signal? I didn't give …"

"I know, I know. I realize that now. There's a newbie on the board here." The operator hunched a bit under her glare. "So there's nothing wrong. Is this just a social chat, then?"

"Well, no, not exactly. We were – that is, I was wondering … Do you really need us back at the base right away?"

"_Need_ you here?"

"Uh … yeah."

"Well … not you, specifically, no. We've got staff coming and going constantly. I'd think, though, that if you do show up, you'd be handed another assignment."

"Well, see, Erk – that is, Reckoning wants to go check out something else."

"Oh, he does, does he?"

"… Yeah."

"A new lead?"

"Sorta-kinda."

She gave a muffled snort. "As _**I**_ recall, his last leads didn't seem to be worth much." Helen was still a bit miffed over how the Finnish super had practically stolen Violet out from under their noses. "Do you think it'll be worth your time?"

"Eh. You never know. I mean, as long as we're here …"

Helen let the sentence trail off without trying to prop it up. At length, she said, "You do what you think best, then, Shield. Just do the right thing."

"Okay. I will."

"Beta out." And Helen broke the connection.

Bob laid a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Kinda hard on her there, weren't you?"

She shook her head. "No." But then her forehead pinched into a tiny frown, and she followed that up with, "… Maybe. Oh, I don't know." She reached up and gave his arm a squeeze. "I'm just not … well, not comfortable, exactly, with Reckoning."

"Oh? Why is that?"

She didn't say anything for a bit, and then shrugged. "Woman's intuition, I guess. There's something a little 'off' about him." She offered him a smile and added, "I shouldn't worry, though. You're the one with the sense for trouble."

"Eh. There's trouble, and then there's trouble. I've learned not to rely on it too heavily."

##

Violet sat up on the back of the stone bench in front of the hostel and stared at the com unit in her hand. _Dang! Now I've got Mom all upset with me again. That wasn't supposed to happen._ She sighed and replaced the device in its holster on her belt, rested her elbows on her knees, then turned her head to the man sitting beside her. He watched her face intently, which she found, curiously, to be rather pleasant.

He said, "Mrs. Incredible did not sound happy."

"That's one way to put it."

"So … do you still want to go?"

She gazed at him absently for a bit, turned to stare off in the direction he'd been looking earlier, and finally gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah, I guess. I could use a little R&R. I haven't had more than a handful of hours at a stretch to just do what I _want_ to do in over a month."

"Yes, that is what you said yesterday. That is why I made the offer."

She caught his eye and cocked a brow at him, the corners of her mouth quirking up just the slightest touch. "Is that the only reason?"

He seemed somewhat taken aback at her question, and took several seconds to answer. "It … would not be … _totally_ truthful if I told you 'yes'." He sat up a little straighter and declared, "I, too, am jealous for your company. This I will not deny."

"Okay."

" … Okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go." She hopped down off the bench and strode purposefully to the car.

##

It took them about two and a half hours to get to the place Reckoning had in mind, and the conversation during the trip was light and desultory. They had slow going the last twenty minutes due to the condition of the dirt road, which had eroded badly in places. Their sedan wasn't built for off-road travel. As they negotiated the various ditches and small gullies, Violet heard him utter several low exclamations that she assumed were curses of one sort or another. Her giggling didn't seem to improve his outlook. Finally, over the last few kilometers, she was obliged to place force field bridges over some of the wider washouts. He didn't ask her to actually transport them via her fields, and she, respecting his need to be in control of his situation, didn't offer. At length they emerged from the edge of a forest into a bright meadow, and Ivan stopped the car.

Violet stood next to the vehicle and looked around. Scattered about in the tall, waving grass, wildflowers grew with careless profusion in all directions. There was a small, prefab house some forty or fifty meters ahead of them, on the other side of a shallow stream and accessible via the wooden bridge that spanned it. A hundred meters or so beyond rose a tall ridge, covered thickly with conifers. A large hazel tree shaded the left side of the house, and off to the right she could see where the stream emptied into a quiet lake.

She took a few steps toward the house, stooped, and picked a couple of handfuls of flowers which she began to twist into a braid.

Ivan cleared his throat. "So …"

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

"What do you think?"

"It's lovely. What is this place?"

"It is mine. I have bought this land."

"You _bought_ it?"

"I did."

She gave him a tiny frown and said, "I thought the Soviet didn't do private ownership."

"It is not a hard and fast rule, not like in the old days. They make exceptions sometimes. It helps to know the right people, and pay the right bribes."

"Ah-huh. And you think they'll _**stay**_ bribed?"

"I do. It is a peculiar system. Expensive, and corrupt by Western standards, but the way the corruption is handled is a matter of honor. No, do not laugh, I am serious. You think it sounds strange that criminal activity can follow a rigid code, but it is only criminal according to the new laws of the Soviet. Their method of doing business is very ancient, and the old ways linger long."

Violet finished plaiting the flowers into a ring, and crowned herself with it, a yellow and green tiara. She spread an arm wide to take in the view and asked, "So how far does it go? Your land, I mean."

"Do you remember the second turn after we left the paved road?"

"Second turn? … Um, let's see, that was … whoa, that was, like, half an hour ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes. My property started about a kilometer on this side of that turn." He pointed at the ridge. "It extends some four kilometers past that hill in that direction, about five off that way, to the south, and about four and a half beyond the far side of that lake to the north."

She goggled at him. "_Kilometers?_ You mean … you mean you own it _all?_"

"Yes. It is a roughly rectangular section, about twenty kilometers by ten, covering nearly nineteen thousand hectares."

"Holy cow!"

"I know this is a great deal of land by North American standards, but it is all undeveloped, and as you have seen, it is remote. The officials I dealt with were more than happy to sell it to me."

"But that's almost … that's gotta be, like … that's huge!"

He held out a hand. "Would you like to see the house?"

She looked around again and shook her head, then said, "Sure." And without hesitation she took his hand and they walked over to the dwelling.

##

Violet asked, "How's that?"

"A little more to the left … now toward me … yes, hold it right there."

Violet stilled her force field, holding the section of modular wall in place while Reckoning fastened it to its neighbor. It took him less than a minute to get the piece fixed in place, and as he rose to his feet he dusted off the knees of his suit and then slapped his hands together. "This is a dusty job."

"You need to get that vacuum system hooked up."

"I need to get the generator hooked up first."

"Maybe I can help with that as well." She looked around at the stacks of crates and boxes. "Where is it?"

"Probably still in Moscow, if our delivery service is up to its usual standards."

"Uff. Well, _that's_ a problem."

"I will bring it myself the next time I come here."

Violet seated herself on one of the four chairs they had unpacked earlier. "Erkki, tell me something."

He grinned and said, "Something."

Her mouth twisting in a suppressed grin, she added, "Something besides that." She held up a hand to forestall his inevitable rejoinder and asked, "Why this place? Why didn't you just buy a piece of property back home in Finland? I mean, you were there already, and you had all that inheritance money, and the government's compensation check for … for, um …"

"For the deaths of my family."

"… Yeah. So why here?"

"Ah. Well, I had two very good reasons. Three, really. First, land prices are a great deal more reasonable in Russia. Second, I doubt that a plot of land this size could be found for sale in Finland at any price. And third, I have some … emotional issues that led me to look for a home elsewhere."

"Oh. Right. Okay, that makes sense."

"Please, I do not wish to bring gloom into this house. We should take a break. It is cooler outside."

She stood and fanned her face as she followed him to the door. "You're right about that. It _**is**_ pretty hot today. And you don't have your shower hooked up yet. What do you do for a bath when you're here?"

He shrugged. "Normally when I am here, I am alone, so it is not an issue. If I must, I take a sponge bath. People have been getting clean that way for thousands of years." He held the door for her, and closed it behind them. "It is not terribly enjoyable, or efficient, but it works."

They walked down toward the lake. A small copse stood to the left of their path, and they sought refuge in its shade. She nodded at the expanse of still water. "We could go for a swim first. That would get most of the sweat and dirt off, and make a sponge bath lots easier and quicker."

"Well …" his downcast look showed how much he regretted having to admit this, but he said, "I would. Really. I like to swim. But I do not have a bathing suit, and there is not really anywhere we could change in private when we got done. Besides, I do not think you have a bathing suit with you either."

"Yes? That's true." A tiny smile edged its way onto her face. She drew a deep breath and asked, "So, who needs a suit?"

He goggled at her. "… What?"

"I don't need a suit to go swimming. Sometimes they just get in the way."

"But … but … but …"

She gave him an arch glance as she peeled off one of her gloves and asked, "What, are you ashamed of the way you look naked? You certainly don't have to be on my account."

He blinked and shook his head a little, and then offered, "You never stop surprising me, Shield." He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

For her part, Violet could hardly believe what she was saying. She plunged ahead anyway, nearly giddy with the audacity of what came out of her mouth. "Why? Because I don't happen to be ashamed of my body?"

"Well … sort of. I just … always thought North American girls were … how do you say it? … more uptight than that. Or something." He watched in disbelief as her second glove came off and was tossed to earth.

"Maybe there are some things about North American girls that you don't know after all." She sat and began pulling off her boots. "Besides, we're just talking about skinny dipping. It's an old tradition where I come from." And while, technically, that may have been true, it was not a tradition in which Violet had previously indulged. Ever. She controlled a shiver as she dropped her second boot and stood.

"Yes. I know. It is very common here as well." He unbuckled his belt and zipped off his pants. "I just … I guess the cultural differences are not so different after all."

She grinned and stuck her tongue out at him. "I've got the advantage here, though."

"Really?" He quirked an eyebrow at her as he unfastened his shirt. "How?"

She reached up and gripped the collar of her suit, pulling it down and stretching it past her shoulders. Just as she was about to reveal territory he'd frequented in his dreams but never before glimpsed, she said, "Because I can do this." And she vanished.

"Hey!" He finished whipping off his shirt and jumped to his feet. "No fair!"

He saw her suit materialize and flutter to the ground. 'Sometimes life's not very fair, Erkki." Her tinkling laugh placed her about halfway to the water. "Last one in's a rotten egg!"

It wouldn't be accurate to say that he didn't care whether she was visible. He cared deeply. But he was so thrilled by this unexpected display of trust on her part he was having a little trouble catching up with himself. He saw a series of small splashes and then a big one at the edge of the lake as he pulled off his last garments, and heard her gasp and shriek, "This stuff's freezing!" The shock of the cold water must have ruined her concentration, because at that moment she became visible again. And Ivan forgot to breathe.

She was standing almost knee deep, the water beading on her fair, fair skin, her slick, black braid hanging down to cover her right breast, its lower tip mingling with the dark delta below her smooth belly. She had her arms crossed over her stomach, shivering. He drank in the view as he strode slowly in her direction. His command of languages was formidable, but he was at a loss to come up with a suitable term. 'Perfect' seemed pale and shallow. 'Glorious' failed entirely to capture his feelings. She was Venus, rising from the ocean. She was the culmination of all hope. She was life and breath and love and motion.

Violet saw him headed her way and regained a little of her composure. Turning (and giving him a brief glimpse of what he was _sure_ had to be the most breathtaking rear end on the planet) she dove in again and started stroking smoothly for the other side of the lake. He sprinted the rest of the way to the edge and jumped in after her.


	17. Chapter 17 Reconciliation

Chapter Seventeen

From a position of concealment near the spine of the ridge, Scanner watched and listened to everything. A smile crept across his face as the girl struck out across the water. This job did, at times, have its small rewards. His hand passed languidly across the surface of a thin, flat device on his lap, and a detailed account of everything he picked up appeared in rapid lines, scrolling swiftly upwards over its face. He would encapsulate the data later, and send it back to Kreshcheyev in a microburst.

##

Violet sat in the sun on a large rock at the lakeshore, smoothing out the gloss on her hair with a brush that Reckoning had found among the various boxes strewn around his house. While swimming across the lake that first time, it had come to her that her actions had been more than a little inappropriate. What must Erkki think of her now? She had all but _invited_ him to get intimate! Her innate shyness had reasserted itself, and she remained invisible until she got back on the inside of her super suit.

For Ivan's part, the thought of her being that close to him, unclothed and vulnerable, had nearly driven him over the brink with desire. The first time they both climbed out on the far side of the lake, one look in his direction had told her more than she cared to know about … well, about a lot of things. She was embarrassed for him and ashamed of herself for getting him into that frame of mind. She knew she was very attractive, physically. Certainly, any number of men had made a point of that fact. She kept telling herself that she should have known something like this would happen. She was truly sorry that she had treated him this way, and had tried to say so a few times since. But Reckoning was being uncharacteristically uncommunicative. Since handing her the brush, he'd made himself scarce.

He was, at this moment, watching her from behind his house. It was well for his plans that he had such iron control over his actions.

When she had first emerged from the water, as she stood there in the bright sun, her outline was clearly visible to him in the water beading on her skin and dripping from her hair. He couldn't stop staring. He knew it was rude, knew it might get him in trouble, but it was honestly impossible to keep himself from tracking her every move. He could hear her movements, see the pattern of water glistening on her body … by all that was holy, he could even _smell_ her! Her presence inflamed his mind. The situation made both of them intensely uncomfortable, and Violet shortly waded back in and struck out for the place they'd come from. He followed, more slowly, and she was already nearly dressed by the time he got back. He walked past her toward his clothes, gaze rigidly fixed, not meeting her eyes.

"Er … Erkki?"

He stopped. With Herculean effort, he kept his voice light. "Yes, Shield?"

"That was very rash of me … not to say downright rude. I'm sorry."

"No apology is necessary." He started walking again. He had not once looked her way.

"Erkki?"

Another pause in his stride. "Yes?"

"Do you have a, um, well … a brush? I know it's kind of awkward … but … well, I've got some stuff in my hair and I … I need to brush it out. I should have thought about … but I'm … that is …" She sighed in frustration. "My brain isn't working very well today for some reason. I guess."

He gave a curt nod and marched on to his house, returning in a few minutes with the item she needed. He executed a _very_ abbreviated bow and quickly walked away.

She'd been working on her hair for the better part of twenty minutes now, staring pensively at the lake. This trip wasn't turning out at all the way she'd anticipated. Of course, she'd had only the vaguest of ideas as to what might happen. She felt – no, she _knew_ – that Erkki liked her. He was going out of his way to be civil and pleasant and even sweet. And then she treated him like that. _Stupid bimbo_, she thought, _it would serve you right if he just left you here!_

Leaving her here alone was the very _last_ thing on Ivan's mind, though. Twice, as he watched her, a slight golden glow surrounded his form, shot through with quick blue sparks and quietly crackling with power; and each time, when he noticed it, he frowned darkly and willed it away and savagely stuffed his immediate needs back down onto the basement floor of his psyche. _Wait_, he counseled himself. _Wait and watch and see when the time is right._

After more than an hour of this uncomfortable distance, Violet could stand the suspense no longer and went looking for him. He made it easy for her to find him, sitting in the shade of the tree beside his house. He'd gone back to the car and retrieved a few bottles of water. He offered her one when she walked up to him.

Realizing how thirsty she had become, she gratefully took the water, twisted off the cap, and upended it, chugging the whole thing. Wordlessly, he handed her another. She laughed quietly, opened it, and took a sip. "You know me too well, it seems."

What flitted across his mind was, _Not as bloody well as I'd like to!_ But what he said out loud was, "You are too kind."

"That I am not." She seated herself on the smooth grass beside him. "Erkki, that was inexcusable … what I did. I really don't know what came over me. It was foolish and selfish and stupid and … and I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

He gave her a sidelong look for a few seconds, chuckled wryly, and said, "How I am put together is not your fault. I should have better control over myself, and I am sad that I do not."

"You're a guy. You're put together just like every other guy. That still doesn't excuse my thoughtlessness."

"Shield, my dear, there is nothing to forgive. I cannot hold you at fault for simply being yourself."

That didn't give her much comfort. _But was I really being myself? I've never done anything like that before. Why today? Why here? Why with him?_

She shook her head to scatter her doubts, and held out her hand. "Make it pax then?"

He took it gravely. "Nothing would please me more." This was, of course, a lie, as there were a couple of things at the very top of his mind that would please him a _heck_ of a lot more than simply making peace; Violet knew this as well as he. But they both understood that this was the sort of lie men were expected to tell to the women they were interested in.

He telescoped gracefully to his feet and helped her to stand. "We should be getting back. I feel I have monopolized your time enough for now. I do not want your father angry at me." He grinned, and added, "I like my bones in their current configuration. No rearrangement necessary."

"Okay." She sighed. "You are, doubtless, correct. And we probably ought to get started while we have plenty of light." She absently brushed off the seat of her suit with one hand.

He held out an arm and said, "After you."

##

Ever since he first noticed that odd, golden glow, Scanner had been searching his database for related phenomena. There were certain of the super powers that always manifested the same way, sort of like a signature of the ability, but this one was new for him, and it made him uneasy. As the sedan pulled away, he trotted back to his own conveyance. There, he transferred all the data he'd collected, along with his own comments in several places, to the com unit in his three-wheeled ATV. He encrypted the message and fired it off to CCK headquarters. Then he got on the vehicle, set a few dials, and took off after the pair of supers. They were still well within the range of his powers, but he didn't want to chance losing them.


	18. Chapter 18 Oligarchs

Chapter Eighteen

Violet and Ivan got back to the headquarters at Groznyy in the early evening the day after they left his property. They parted ways soon after entering the complex, Violet heading off to the rooms that had been assigned to Team Incredible, and Reckoning, after checking in with the control room, making his way back to his vehicle. He had retained a suite in one of the upscale hotels on the southern end of the city. It was no part of his plan to put himself under the scrutiny of the CCK any more than events made necessary.

##

"Gospodin Kreshcheyev?"

The man looked up at the attendant standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

"They're ready for you."

"Thank you." He rose and gathered his things before marching resignedly down the long hall toward the room where his superiors were gathered, waiting on him. Even though he had ample documentation to back up what he was about to tell them, he knew it would take a lot of work to convince some of them. Three of the older party members, once they got an idea in their heads, could be distressingly inflexible. He got to a junction and turned right, walked to the end of a short hall and into the chamber.

The seven oligarchs were seated in a semicircle around one end of the large table that occupied the room's center. A single chair stood opposite them, and Kreshcheyev took it. He opened his case and spread several documents out in front of him.

The man in the center position cleared his throat and said, "Well, Piotr, what news do you have for us? How long until you have this gang?"

Piotr looked at the man, swallowed, and answered, "General Alekseev, I do have news, but I believe it is not the news you were expecting."

Two of the older men on Alekseev's right leaned together and began muttering. The General just stared at Kreshcheyev for a moment and then said, "Well, out with it. What am I about to hear that I don't want to hear?"

"Sir, our forensics experts have been over every aspect of the murders. They have spent many months sorting out the details in each case, and have devoted nearly a thousand man-hours to studying the latest attempt. Their unanimous opinion is that it was an isolated effort, unrelated to the previous eight."

"Surely you jest."

"No, Sir. I have all their reports right here. The attempt to assassinate our agent 'Trouble' was radically different in its execution. It bore none of the hallmarks of the others. The investigators are convinced beyond reasonable doubt that the first eight murders were committed by a single criminal."

"How can that be?" He slammed the table with one meaty fist. "That makes no sense!"

"By your leave, General, if you have all the facts it _does_ make sense. Our team of investigators has deduced from the body of evidence that the killer has a device that damps or negates at least some of the known super powers."

There were several expressions of protest, from exactly those members that Piotr had _predicted_ would protest, and he sighed inwardly. "Sirs, please allow me to explain …"

The next three hours were some of the most grueling of Kreshcheyev's life. He had to go through every scrap of data, explain every nuance of deductive reasoning, and defend every conclusion his team had come up with. The most irksome thing to the oligarchs, the fact that galled them the most, was that the killer was still, even after all that had happened, an almost completely unknown figure.

"Our profilers are satisfied that the killer is male, and in excellent physical condition, on a par with an Olympic gymnast. He also seems to have some skill in cryptology and a working knowledge of computer source code. Beyond that …" He held up his hands, then let them drop. "There are literally tens of thousands of men who fit the profile. I wish I could give you a positive report, but I felt the truth would be of more value." He hoped fervently that the truth wouldn't get him exiled.

The seven men who represented the power of the Soviet State wrangled and argued and blustered and shouted for almost an hour after he'd finished; he waited, quietly and patiently. At length, General Alekseev addressed him directly. "Your report is neither adequate nor conclusive. You will go back to your so-called 'forensic experts' and tell them to finish the job."

And that was it. He was dismissed, and made his exit with all due speed … and a sour taste in his mouth. His superiors demonstrably were in denial about the state of affairs surrounding the murders. That made his position a dangerous one indeed. If he wasn't able very soon to locate and neutralize the threat to the Soviet's supers, he felt sure they would replace him with someone more … motivated. And where, then, would that leave him? He wondered bitterly what the weather was like in Yakutsk, but then he put those thoughts away and centered himself, trying to let go of the tension he'd been under most of the week.

He went down to the garage, found his driver, and started the trip back to Groznyy.

##

_Reports. Some days I hate all these reports. No, make that __most__ days._ Piotr had been back in his office long enough for two of his secretaries to find him and load him down with reports labeled _'__must respond__'_ and _'__urgent__'_ and _'__top priority__'_. He sighed and began to sort them by relevance to the latest fiat he'd received from the oligarchs. So it was with a degree of relief that he pushed them aside when Scanner stuck his head in the door.

"Sir? I have a preliminary analysis of the subject."

"Come in, Scanner. Have a seat. Unburden yourself."

The super-monitor did just that, filling in the details and coloring out to the edges for his boss. About forty minutes into the report, Kreshcheyev held up a hand. "Wait. Describe that chromatic effect again. And give me as much detail as you have."

"During his clandestine observation of Shield, Reckoning experienced a dermal luminescence on two occasions. Extending from the surface of his skin a distance of three to twenty centimeters was a glowing field exhibiting an average luminous strength of about twelve lux, with a maximum intensity of perhaps twenty-five lux, concentrated mainly around his head and fists. The overall effect was translucent, as it made his outline somewhat harder to distinguish. The main color displayed was a golden yellow that centered around a wavelength of 595 nanometers. There were numerous small sparks or arcs of a bluish-white light that originated at the skin's surface and shot out of the golden area. The sparks were not much thicker than a hair, and had an average life of less than a second, but they were significantly brighter than the primary energy field and there were between fifty and eighty actively sparking at any one time. They disappeared first when he damped the field. It may have been tied to his emotional state, since the glow waxed in brightness while he spied on Shield, until he noticed it, whereupon it rapidly diminished over about three seconds until it was gone."

Kreshcheyev sat there, frowning darkly, long enough for Scanner to get the fidgets. He finally asked, "Do you want me to go through the archives to see if I can find a match?"

"… No. I'll take care of that." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, placing his chin on his locked fingers. "Continue with your report."

"After another forty minutes of the silent treatment, Shield went to the house and found him, and apologized for her audacity."

"That was generous of her."

"Perhaps. I have very little background information on Shield apart from what is available in the common media, so I don't know whether that sort of behavior is normal for her. She seemed honestly contrite."

"I see." He thought that over for a space, and continued, "Well, if Gospodin Leinonen had evil intentions toward her, he could hardly have had a better opportunity to act upon them. He certainly had ample provocation."

"I couldn't agree more. I am not sure I would have been able to control myself as well as he did."

"Eh. Self-control may not have had as much to do with it as you suppose. That slight young woman is one of the most lethal supers on the planet. Attacking her would be an efficient means of suicide, were she not feeling charitable."

"Ah. So, if _he_ knew that …"

"And he did."

"… I can understand his reluctance to start a confrontation."

"Yes. What happened then?"

"He accepted her apology, commented that he didn't want her father angry with him, and suggested that they leave for Groznyy. Their conversation on the trip back the next day was subdued, and limited largely to logistical reviews of the course of our investigation into the murders. Each was careful to avoid personal topics, and I got the impression they were in tacit agreement on that point. They arrived at headquarters at 18:36 hours yesterday. Shield has been in her rooms since then. She did not come to breakfast with the rest of the team this morning. Reckoning had taken a suite in a hotel in town, and went directly there. He had a light supper and returned to his room. He did not call anyone or watch television, although he did have the radio tuned to a popular music program. He looked through several dozen sheets of paper and took notes on them in a book that appeared to be some kind of journal. I don't know where the papers came from. They were in his room when he arrived. His lights went out at 22:20. I sent you the full report in a microburst three hours ago, but it runs to well over a hundred thousand words and I thought you'd want the synopsis first."

"Quite right. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"Scanner, have you had lunch?"

"No, Sir."

"Very well. The cafeteria has a new chef, and he makes a buckwheat kasha with hard-boiled eggs that is really quite good."

"I'm dismissed, then?"

"For the moment. After your meal, I'd like for you to locate Reckoning again. If his activities to date are any indication, you won't find him far from the girl."

"Yes, Sir. I'd be willing to stake a significant number of rubles on that, Sir."

Piotr chuckled wryly. "As you say. Bon appetite."

After Scanner took his leave Piotr Kreshcheyev, Coordinator of the Soviet Bureau of Supers, sat there in his office, thinking hard on what he'd learned, ignoring his piles of reports for the time being. _You are more than you appear, Reckoning, much more, and if my suspicions are confirmed, there will __**be**__ a reckoning, of that you may be certain!_


	19. Chapter 19 Clandestine

Chapter Nineteen

Having correctly surmised that he would be under surveillance, Ivan took the liberty of quitting his rooms at a quarter of three that morning. After activating his suit's camouflage function, he picked the lock to the room beside his, which was conveniently empty, although the hotel's computer had been convinced otherwise. He made his way via servants' halls and stairwells to the roof of the parking garage, and from there slid down the outside of a duct to the street behind the hotel. It was only a quick two-block slink to the spot where he'd stashed one of his other vehicles, and he was shortly on his way east toward Gudermes. Although he was near to bursting with impatience he kept his speed within the legal limits. It wouldn't do to involve the local constabulary on _any_ level. His imminent meeting with one of his top operatives was much too important to risk delays.

As was his long-established habit, he had memorized the pertinent information contained in the several reports and then destroyed the documents. Even given that they were all in code, he could ill afford to have any of them fall into the wrong hands. Many people, on both sides of the law, would be interested enough in his activities to make things uncomfortable, and he was uncomfortable enough already. In particular two of the reports had raised his hackles. One gave a tiny bit of information about a meeting between Lord Tar's chief lieutenant and a group of mercenaries. The other gave details of a different set of troops, some six hundred or so, that were now barracked at The Demon's dacha, and mentioned in passing a list of hardware that had been installed there.

The Demon was up to something, a really _big_ something, and Ivan had to know what.

Gudermes was an unprepossessing town. Since it was a major link in the Soviet oil-production industry, it was a frequent target for some of the more violent separatist groups. They hadn't managed to make a dent in the actual operations that were carried out there, but there were an _awful_ lot of bombed or burned out buildings left in their wake, and of course, as it was with all such conflicts, the civilians took the brunt of the damage. The super-abundance of half-destroyed edifices made the place a natural for Ivan's purposes.

He parked his car behind what had been a block of apartments some ten years ago. The front façade of the building was gone, exposing its innards to the elements, and as no one had been interested enough to fix it, the rest of it had long since been taken over by weeds, vines, birds, and small furry things with sharp teeth. He made sure his conveyance wouldn't be visible from either of the streets, and slipped quietly in through the skeleton of a window.

Yevgeniy was waiting in the inner room they had used before.

He got to his feet, relief plain on his face. "Gospodin Bolodnikov! I have learned more in the last hour!"

"Do you know why he has all those troops?"

"Yes!"

"Who is his target?"

"There is no target, not the way you think. They are there for his defense. He fears an attack."

"From what quarter?"

"From North America." Yevgeniy could tell by the way Ivan's brow darkened that he'd hit a nerve. "It is because of his real plan. That mercenary that met with Gospodin Martinov was Colonel Derevenko."

"Derevenko?" Ivan knew a great deal about the Colonel's operation, and held it in grudgingly high esteem. "What does Lord Tar want with him?"

"He wants him to kidnap the President of the North American Union."

Ivan's face drained. He leaned heavily against the wall. "… Are you … certain of this? _Completely_ certain?"

"Yes. I have solid confirmation from within Martinov's organization, and from a source among Derevenko's men. They are planning the operation as we speak."

"But there's no positive outcome possible! What can he hope to accomplish?"

"As soon as he has delivered the President, Derevenko is supposed to inform the NSA of his whereabouts."

"What? But that … that would … ohhhhh … oh, no."

The possibilities and consequences marched across in front of him in frightening clarity.

. . . . _No one sane would attempt such a thing. But Lord Tar is not sane._

_. . . . I have no doubt that Derevenko is familiar enough with the security there to know that. The Demon must have given him an __**obscene**__ amount of money to make the attempt._

_. . . . If that compound isn't the most-well-defended place on the planet, it'll be in the top two. They did that on purpose so that no one would even contemplate doing something so stupid._

_. . . . He would never undertake such an operation if he thought there was little chance for success._

_. . . . If he goes in and fails, some of his men will surely be captured. Most of them are Russian. The NAU will look on it as an act of war. They will very probably declare war in retaliation._

_. . . . If he is successful with this idiocy and gets the President off the continent, the Vice President will take up the reins and will __**without a doubt**__ declare war. An invasion would surely follow. That is what Tar fears. That is why he has the extra troops._

_. . . . There is no way that relatively small number of fighters would be sufficient to repel a determined expeditionary force, but with Tar's twisted mind who can say what he thinks about it?_

_. . . . The military forces of the two governments are nearly evenly matched. They've got more warheads. We've got a couple hundred thousand more men on the ground. But the technology on both sides is ridiculously efficient at dealing out mayhem. Millions would die in a war._

_. . . . What if one or both of the governments decided to send their supers to fight for them? They both have supers on their payroll._

_. . . . The Demon apparently wants the supers to attack his dacha. Why? Does he think he can kill them all? And even if the NSA did manage to get them into the Soviet against our wishes, would they necessarily go straight to the dacha? They are working in concert now._

_. . . . Aghh! Too many variables! This could devolve into the biggest and most violent dogfight in history._

_. . . . No; the nuclear arsenals are the much more likely avenue. It would only take one hothead on one side with access to the right button to start an atomic holocaust. Scores of cities could be reduced to glow-in-the-dark glass-paved parking lots overnight._

_. . . . Regardless of who "won" the war, the rest of the world's economies would tank. Civilization would be set back hundreds of years._

_. . . . That would constitute a threat to Violet Parr, and a major inconvenience to me._

_. . . . I can't let that happen._

He took Yevgeniy by the shoulder. "Who else in our network knows about this?"

"Three of my men, and Davidovich, and Fyodor."

"Okay. Good. Fyodor knows Derevenko's setup. We have to find out how far along he is with his staging."

"Yes, Sir." Yevgeniy was immensely relieved to have passed on the responsibility for this information to his superior. "What is our next step, Sir?"

"We have to stop Derevenko, preferably before he leaves our shores." He stood there, chin in hand, thinking furiously. "You have men watching him now?"

"We do. That is how I knew what I just learned."

"Good. I have much work to do. You must let me know what he is up to, at least every hour. More often if you think the situation warrants it." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a set of communicators. Tossing one to Yevgeniy, he said, "These have a range of close to two thousand kilometers. Use channel six. I've secured that frequency, and the com has a very good scrambler." His man examined the device, tried a test call, and put it away. His gaze fairly burning, Ivan gripped the other man by his upper arm and continued, "Yev, this is one action where we can't afford to fail. The fate of the world may depend upon what we do in the next few hours."


	20. Chapter 20 Vision

Chapter Twenty

The images flitted through Leo's mind, too tenuous to grasp, too chaotic to understand. His body shuddered, and the occasional moan escaped his sweat-drenched frame.

Violence.

So much violence.

Death all around.

The blocky being who had arisen, huge and terrible, from the steel table stood on a high mountain overlooking the world. His eyes glowed with that feral, yellow light and he held his fists up in triumph and laughed and laughed and laughed.

One face kept popping up in his mental field of vision. The man was past his middle years, but still strong. Sometimes he was of average height, sometimes he towered over those around him. His gray hair was beginning to recede. His short, neat mustache was already completely white. Leo couldn't make out the color of his eyes. Every time, as he got close enough to see, the man would flinch, pull away, close his eyes tightly, throw up his hands … then everything would dissolve in fiery pandemonium.

Men running, soldiers running, firing their guns, dropping to the earth in showers of bright red …

Explosions everywhere, buildings falling, falling, falling …

Little moving points of light in the gathering pall of evening, flicking past overhead, on their way to … where? …

The ground trembling, the shock waves washing over them, the rush of nuclear fire bringing its cleansing touch to the land, polishing it free of any trace of mankind …

Leo gasped again and dragged himself up out of the vision, forced his eyes open, forced the searing images away. He pulled an exhausted forearm across his face, realizing in a few moments that he lay at length on the cold floor of his lab. He coughed several times, rolled painfully over and pushed himself up on his hands and knees; there he stayed for most of a minute as he tried to get his breathing under control and keep his gorge down.

_What happened? What __**was**__ that?_

Up until today his glimpses of the 'Otherwhere' had come upon him quietly, feathers of information falling softly into his consciousness. This was, to say the least, a radical departure from the norm.

_But why?_

Rising to his feet he stumbled over to the recliner. He found himself unable even to look at the plate of fruit, cheese, and cold cuts he'd left on the little side table. His gut had other ideas, and he was in no mood to argue.

The chair's soft leather welcomed his tired muscles. He closed his eyes and stilled his mind, then began running back through the brutal images. Clearly, that poisonously evil being who had occupied much of his thought lately was growing in power. Leo knew where he was, knew how to get to him, knew, even, what would be necessary to stop him. Unfortunately, the details to that scenario had yet to be realized.

Leo turned his head and gazed over at the components littering his workbench. Deciding that his stomach had settled enough to risk it, he picked a pear off the platter and took it with him to his stool. Noting that the analyzer was still on, he glanced at the clock and then gave a small start. The vision that had seemed so long, so involved, had lasted less than five minutes. Shrugging in frustration, he got back to work on what he knew to be the only real hope his country had for avoiding a war.


	21. Chapter 21 Spies

Chapter Twenty-One

It was not quite mid-morning when Violet wandered into the control room, where she immediately caught her mother's eye. She watched as a wide range of emotions struggled for supremacy on Helen's face, but what finally settled in was a resigned smile. She sighed and said, "Hello, Vi. You feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Lots better than I did, anyway." She was very glad her mother had decided not to pick a fight.

"Have you eaten?"

"Just a grapefruit and a little yogurt. I wasn't hungry." She walked over behind the console. "Got another assignment for me yet?"

"Could be. That kind of depends on you. We haven't seen much of you the last couple of days. Thought you might be a little under the weather."

"No, just tired." _And depressed, but that's my fault, and I'd really rather not go into that just now._ "We … covered a lot of ground in a few days, and it wore me down some." She sat in one of the monitor chairs. "I feel pretty good this morning, though."

"Well if you think you're up for a challenge …"

Violet grinned. "Them's fightin' words!"

"I'm glad you feel that way." She punched a few buttons and a map came up on the large main screen. "This is the eastern border of the Kyrgizsti Soviet, where it butts up against China. The place is a real hotbed of discontent. Abject poverty. Warlords run most everything. No individual rights to speak of. Lots of the separatist movements recruit the locals, and they never seem to have a shortage."

"Sounds like a barrel of laughs."

"Right. You'll fly in to Bishkek, drive around the southern side of Lake Yssyk-Kul to Karakol, and head up into the mountains." She gave Violet a level look. "You wanted to see some snow when we got to Russia? Here's your chance. Be very sure to take your parka."

"Cold, huh?"

"Yes. We're talking permafrost."

"Ouch."

"And don't forget it. You'll be looking for a warlord named Avakri. But he usually goes by his nickname, Avasi."

"They sound a lot alike."

"Yeah, to us they do. But Avasi translates as "Voice" or "Orator". He's a very persuasive fellow, and he's amassed quite an impressive militia, especially for that area. Some of the CCK's spies think he might know something about the murders."

"Really? How would he?" She pointed to the area of the map in question. "That's waaaay off the beaten track. How would a tribal warlord way the heck over toward China know anything about …"

The intercom chimed and the departmental secretary's voice came over the speakers: "Agent Shield, call 3634. Agent Shield, call 3634. Please to pick up message."

The two women looked at each other. Violet asked, "You know what that's about?"

"Nope." Helen offered her daughter a handset. "Why don't you call 3634 and find out?"

She did, and was shortly speaking with a very agitated Erkki.

He'd had an _exceedingly_ bad time these recent days. Through his various secure avenues of information he discovered that Derevenko had already left the Soviets. He was en route to, or had possibly already arrived in, South America. Which of the hundreds of "Liberation Front" or "People's Front" or "Other Lunatic Front" rebel groups they were currently holed up with had yet to come to light. Ivan didn't have spies in all of them, or even many of them. It would have stretched his organization too thin, and it usually wasn't very high on his _List Of Important Things_ anyway. He lumped that part of the globe in with Australia, much of Asia, and the vast majority of Africa, insofar as what happened there could have little effect on his plans. But this wasn't the first time Lord Tar had surprised him, and he reflected bitterly that it likely wouldn't be the last. Unpredictability was one of the more frustrating things about working for a madman.

He had labored feverishly, pushing his information-gathering power to its limit, but the answers he wanted just weren't there. He had no way to discover what no one else knew, and it threw him into an outside loop. Time and again, in his quest for a solution to this riddle, he had come to the same conclusion: through Violet, he would have to inform Team Incredible, make them understand that the President's safety was in jeopardy, and get them to convince the NAU government to do something about it. This, he _ardently_ did not wish to do. It would throw a major glitch into his plans for Violet, because it would introduce an element of distrust that hadn't, up to this point, been there. But the alternative was total war between the world's two major military super-powers. Even given his utter lack of empathy for the rest of humanity, he really didn't have to think _too_ hard about that decision.

"Erkki, slow down! What was that last thing you said?"

"A threat, Shield, there is large danger. I must talk you! Please!"

Violet, noting the combination of concern and dislike on Helen's face, said, "All right, Erkki, but if you've got something you need to tell me that's _that_ important, I want the Team leaders there, too."

"… Very well. They also need to know."

"Where are you?"

"In the reception area."

"Let me speak to the guard." Violet got a few specifics from the man on duty and arranged to use a meeting room close to the entrance. The guard assured her that he would see to it that Reckoning was there.

The room itself was small, maybe three meters by five, and the four of them made it seem full. Ivan rose when the three members of Team Incredible filed in. He continued standing after they took their seats.

"Okay, Erkki, what's got you so worked up?"

"There is … there are several items." He seemed inordinately nervous to Violet, and his general appearance was very much bedraggled, as if he hadn't slept in quite some time. This was truth in advertising, since he'd had perhaps four hours of rest in the previous three days. "The first is a confession I must make."

"I knew it," Helen breathed to herself. Violet frowned at her.

"I am not … that is, I do not … my battle is not … a solitary one."

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Huh? You lost me."

He began to pace back and forth in the limited space available. "I gave the impression that I … always work alone."

"And you don't?"

"No. I apologize for the deception."

Bob was confused. "So you have a partner? Big deal. What's so weird and unusual about that?"

"Ah … I, ah … that is to say, I do not have a 'partner' in the way you mean. It is … I mean, the group is more like … a business. An organization."

Violet asked, "What _kind_ of organization?"

"Ah … well, they are … you could call them … that is, they, um … gather information … for me."

"… Like spies?"

"Ah … yes. Like spies."

Bob shifted in his chair. He didn't care for the direction this was headed. "So what has your spy organization told you?"

Ivan took a deep breath and blurted out, "They have uncovered a credible threat to the life of the President of the NAU."

Violet hadn't really been sure of what she was expecting, but that wasn't it.

Helen asked, "Who?"

"The President of the …"

"No, I mean who, as in 'Who is after the President?' Or did your source know that?"

"That is what I have been working so hard to find out. I had to be certain."

Violet held up a hand. "Wait a minute. Just how big is this 'organization' of yours?"

"Ah … well, that is to say …" He made a quick decision and told the truth. "… I am not really sure."

Helen sat forward. "You mean you have so many people working for you that you don't even _know_ all of them?"

"I know my top men. They … have others working for them. So, no, I do not know them all."

"Top men?" Violet mused. "Okay then. How many 'top men' do you have?"

"Eighteen."

"I see. Eighteen. Well, well. And they all have others working under them?"

"Yes … I believe so."

"Uh-huh. Very interesting." Violet's tone was, to Ivan's thinking, altogether too understated for his taste. "And you pay for all of them?"

"Ah … yes."

She stood and took a step toward him. He noted that her personal shield was flickering on and off and he backed into the wall, sputtering, "I … I am … sorry that I did not tell you sooner, but it did not seem to be that important and there were other things we were trying to accomplish and …"

She was mere centimeters from his face when she asked, "Just how do you meet the payroll for all these people?"

"I … ah … what?"

"You called it _'your' _organization. How do you pay them? You rich or something? You into some shady deals?"

"No!"

She ignored his protest. "You're awfully good with those pistols of yours. Maybe you got a little assassination on the side? Something like that?"

"No!" That hit _entirely_ too close to home for his comfort. Suddenly he wondered just what she might and might not truly know about him. He spoke quickly. "Is not like that _at all!_ As you know, I got large sum of money from government after my family was killed. Plus, I do many freelance works for some big corporations, and it paid very well. Plus, I have invested and it do also well. That is how I can pay all people who do my legwork for me." He pulled an indignant face. "Is it now crime to have money?"

She considered him narrowly for a few seconds and said, "Those leads you had …"

" … Leads?"

"The reason we went gallivanting all over southwest Russia last week. You gave me the impression that you'd dug up those leads yourself. But you didn't." Her stare could have drilled holes through the wall behind him. "Did you?"

"Oh. That." He thought furiously. "Ah … well, that is, to be totally honest …"

Helen remarked, "That would be a refreshing change."

"I am _sorry!"_ He threw up his hands in frustration. "I made mistake! Is my fault! But I tell you _now_ and I not _have_ to. Is because now _I_ trust _you_." He drew a deep breath and stood straighter. "Yes, I not am, as you say, 'up-front' about my spies. I was wrong. If you not want me here now, I go. Gospodin Kreshcheyev would be just too happy. But that not important thing. Important thing is NAU President."

"Yes, about that," said Helen. "You didn't say who was trying to kill him."

"Is Russian military leader. Name is Derevenko, and he has his own army. They are very good, a force to fear."

Helen said, "Derevenko?" She turned to Bob. "You ever hear that name?"

"… Nnnnno. Doesn't ring a bell."

Ivan thought it time to drop the other shoe. "Derevenko is working with a crime boss. They are cahooting."

"What?"

Violet said, "I think he means they're in cahoots." She asked him, "Are they working together?"

"Yes. Is just so."

"What's this mobster's name?"

"Is Achmedjan. He is, as you say, nutcase. Very dangerous."

"Achmedjan? _Taruz_ Achmedjan?"

That response surprised Ivan. He hadn't been aware that they knew of The Demon. "Oh … yes, I think that is name. His name, I mean."

Team Incredible looked at each other. Helen said, "That puts a whole new perspective on things."

"Right," agreed Bob. "If this Derevenko is getting weapons from The Demon …"

"Yeah. Bad news. Very bad."

Helen pointed and said, "Reckoning, have a seat."

Ivan pulled out a chair and sat.

"All right. I want you to tell me everything you know about this Achmedjan character and his association with Derevenko."

"Everything?"

"Everything. Let's start with how your … _men_ came to know of this pending attack and work out from there.


	22. Chapter 22 Discovery

Chapter Twenty-Two

Piotr Kreshcheyev didn't exactly take notes while Scanner delivered his report, but he made several comments on his legal pad as reminders to follow up on various points. To his way of thinking, Reckoning's revelation about his spy organization had vindicated his caution. He had felt in his bones that there was more to this man than he professed. In fact, he still felt that way.

"… at which point he revealed what he believed to be the location of Achmedjan's headquarters. He placed it near the eastern end of Lake Balkhash."

"Lake Balkhash? But there's nothing there, not on that end."

"I wouldn't know, Gospodin. Geography is not my strong point. But that is what he said."

"Hold that thought for a moment." Piotr tapped a button on his desk, and a female voice responded with a crisp, "Yes, Gospodin!"

"I need some high-altitude reconnaissance done for coordinates …" He looked at a map briefly. "… forty-five to forty-seven north and seventy-nine to eighty-two east."

"Yes, Gospodin. Is there anything in particular you wish to locate?"

"Anything that looks like it might be fortified. Unusual structures, troop concentrations, that sort of thing."

"Very good. It will be done."

He turned back to Scanner. "We will shortly see whether this Reckoning knows how to tell the truth."

##

Ivan was pacing again.

Nearly thirty hours had passed since he had revealed his knowledge to Team Incredible. Thirty hours in which Piotr Kreshcheyev's team checked his information to exhaustion. Thirty more hours for Derevenko to stage his assault.

Thirty hours closer to Armageddon.

Each minute slipped past in a regular, maddening procession, mocking his powerlessness. The loss of time was intolerable, but the CCK would not be rushed.

Piotr made sure that Ivan was with him in the control room when the high-altitude photos came in, with Morph standing by as a precaution. As the liaison studied each one in turn he grew ever more agitated. If anything, Reckoning had been understating the case. How could an installation of this size and sophistication have escaped his notice? There was a small city blooming in that blasted wasteland!

Ivan had the slight satisfaction of watching Piotr scramble the entire base to address this problem.

All available super teams were recalled, and a council of war held in the main amphitheater. Kreshcheyev turned over the planning of the details to the military tacticians, who relished this sort of exercise and fairly preened in the spotlight. They quickly decided that since all that open land around the crime lord's base afforded no cover, stealth wasn't an option. Speed would be their watchword.

While Bob, Dash, and Violet were to take part in the super assault, Helen was not. She and Kreshcheyev had flown to Moscow and were closeted with the North American ambassador, who listened to their story with a large measure of incredulity. Nevertheless, he had met Piotr several times before, and knew him to be a very cautious sort. If he was this perturbed, there must be _something_ on the radar. He assured them that he would let the President know of their concerns. As soon as they finished their conversation, he sat down to write a lengthy memo outlining everything they had told him. He didn't quite get it finished by dinner time, so he saved it on his processor. Tomorrow, he would complete it, encrypt it, and send it directly to his home office with instructions to forward it to the President at their earliest convenience.

After they got done with the Ambassador, Helen and Piotr contacted Alan Thomas and filled him in. He immediately alerted the Secretary of Defense to the coming invasion. That worthy, while not quite giving them the short shrift, assured them that all necessary precautions would be taken to protect the President. The SecDef, however, was predisposed to a large helping of hubris in such matters. He'd helped to set up some of the ordnance and hardware, personnel and procedures that were established at the NAU governmental compound, and had an exceedingly high degree of confidence in them. Therefore, he limited his 'necessary precautions' to a single memo to the base commander, instructing him to increase the alert level at the compound from 'Active' to 'Elevated'. He didn't feel it needful to unduly alarm the President.


	23. Chapter 23 Assignment

Chapter Twenty-Three

Yuri Golovnin had been with Colonel Derevenko for close to two decades, and was one of the four remaining members of his first mercenary team. Yuri had not kept his skin intact all that time by being stupid; one of the things he liked most about working with the Colonel was the meticulous detail with which he set up his operations. Derevenko never did anything without close and scrupulous prior study of the situation. Yuri enjoyed his adrenaline rush as well as the next soldier, but he also liked knowing that he had all his bases covered, and could undertake his appointed tasks with a reasonable expectation of being able to brag about it later.

So it was with barely-disguised dismay that he had listened as the Colonel outlined their next assignment.

They were going to North America. That was strike one. Those crazy North Americans couldn't be trusted to react in a predictable fashion. Sure, in any random group you picked out, maybe half of them could be cowed by a show of force, but the other half would resist … sometimes vehemently. And there were altogether too many effective weapons in the hands of the man on the street. Unlike the inhabitants of his homeland, the average North American citizen could carry a concealed weapon, and many of them owned automatic or high-power weapons that they kept in their homes. Every one of Derevenko's North American operations – and there had been a few over the years – were conducted with the utmost discretion because of that fact.

The target was a political one. That was strike two. Civilian targets were one thing. Heck, the North Americans preyed on _each other_ often enough that a well-planned kidnapping or a subtle piece of industrial espionage might just get lost in the noise. Even the occasional assassination, if properly conducted, might easily be passed off as just another mugging gone sour. However, going after their patriotic symbols meant that they were going to take it personally. Under those circumstances, getting back out of the country became a problematic and tedious chore.

But those conditions paled beside the bombshell that Derevenko dropped on them next: they had exactly four days to plan the attack. They had received the first quarter of their promised payment, and it amounted to just over half a million rubles _per man_. That was as much as a good technician might expect to make in his lifetime, and considerably more than most of the mercenaries had stashed away. The thought of getting a single paycheck big enough to retire on in style had lit a fire under most of the men. But Yuri knew there had to be a catch somewhere, and this was it. Their great and magnanimous benefactor wanted the operation completed in five days. They would fly to Venezuela and hook up with an old acquaintance of Derevenko's, who ran a mercenary training camp in the mountains. He would outfit them with the few remaining pieces of hardware they lacked, and then they would infiltrate the northern continent, move undetected to Minnesota, stage a clandestine assault on what was arguably the most impenetrable fortress on the planet, capture the guy in charge, haul him back out of the compound, and leave the country for home … all in two days. And they would do it all with no advance planning to speak of.

_Riiiiiiight._

Yuri began to feel a little better about their chances when Derevenko revealed that he had been working on various plans for invading the NAU citadel for over two years, sort of as a mental exercise. He had identified eight separate weaknesses that they might exploit, and could show them that incursion had a comfortably high probability of success. The ultimate success of the mission depended on how undetectable they could be after they got in, and what sorts of surveillance they might encounter. They had equipment and suits that would defeat or fool any normal system, that is, any system that depended on the electromagnetic spectrum for its input. Motion detectors were tricky, but there were very feasible ways around those as well. Dogs were a problem, and if they ran afoul of a canine patrol, they would just have to eliminate them as quietly as possible.

As Derevenko and his old ally went over their options, Yuri got a glimmer of hope that they might actually get out of this with their skins un-perforated. And, in that event, they had their pick of non-extradition countries to retire to. In the end he had to agree: it was too tempting a prize to pass up.


	24. Chapter 24 President

Chapter Twenty-Four

Doctor Joseph Franklin Brandt ("Just call me Joe. Titles give me a rash.") was a statesman, that rarest of anomalies in modern politics. A true Renaissance man, he seemed to be uncommonly good at whatever he turned his hand to. He had entered Stanford at the ripe old age of fifteen, and received his first doctorate in Mathematics at twenty. His attention switched to aerospace engineering, and by age twenty-six he had fourteen patents in his name for devices and materials to improve the performance of jet and rocket engines. The fluid mechanics aspects of aerospace fascinated him, and he became expert in that field, inventing several devices to aid blood flow in patients with compromised circulatory systems. This endeavor led him to medical school, and he qualified as a board-certified surgeon at the age of thirty-three. He developed four new (pardon the pun) cutting-edge techniques involving organ transplants. His work with patients in the throes of liver failure led him into research on the diseases of that organ. He used his considerable wealth to set up a trust to facilitate the handling and transport of donor livers, and endowed a chair at Duke for their Teaching Hospital. Subsequently, he combined all the extant donor databases into a continent-wide resource that could match recipients in minutes instead of days. He joined the board of directors of the Centers for Disease Control, and spent three years in the rainforests of Irian Jaya and Central America tracking down what was eventually distilled into the first reliable vaccine for malaria.

While tending to these various chores, he found time to write half a dozen best-selling novels and a treatise on the native medicines of Guatemala, and to study, and master, the elements of the Indonesian knife-fighting art of _silat_. He also picked up several Oriental languages.

By the age of forty-four he had negotiated enough contracts, butted heads with enough anal-retentive bureaucrats, and dealt with enough sleazy lawyers and smarmy politicians that he felt he had to take a hand in the political future of his country. He became a state senator, then governor of Illinois, where his forward-thinking style took a state that had been operating in the red for close to a decade, and produced a fourth-year net income of nearly half a billion dollars. He was appointed ambassador to Japan, a very touchy position that he handled with meticulous and easy grace. At fifty-five he received the Libertarian Party's nomination for President, and was sworn in to the office three weeks after his fifty-sixth birthday. Four years and half a dozen successful policies later, he was re-elected in the largest landslide in North American history. His popularity with the common man was a thing of legend.

This was the man The Demon wanted to kidnap, to humiliate, to humble, to hold out as bait to the supers he so fervently despised. But today, right now, Joseph Brandt didn't know or care about any of that. He was going through his morning exercise routine, and when he was in the middle of a sparring match, the rest of the world faded out.

Initially, three men had surrounded him, each armed, each a master of his chosen weapon. In the first round they took it in turns to attack the President … and they weren't joking. There was a medical team standing nearby, alert and ready to help if they were needed. It hadn't been necessary yet. In his six years since becoming President, Joseph Brandt had received only two wounds of any significance in these daily bouts, and none in the last two and a half years. His goal was to disarm his opponent or break his weapon. His adversary's goal was simply to get past the President's defenses, and pink him somewhere. Joseph held a long, heavy knife in his left hand and a somewhat shorter device in his right that resembled a narrow, reinforced sai with a stout handle and a series of regular notches along the center blade. He called it a sword-breaker and it served him both as a shield and as a means of riposte. It had already performed that function twice this morning. The man he now faced, the one who favored the long staff, was giving him difficulties. He'd narrowly fended off a wicked leg sweep twice, and had escaped having his gut poked by the slimmest of margins. But the last lunge had been extended just the tiniest bit too far, and in an instant the sword-breaker trapped it against the ground and the flat of the knife smacked the back of the man's forward hand.

He dropped the staff, stood straight, and bowed. Joseph noticed, past his shoulder, one of his staffers trotting toward him with a worried look on his face. Sheathing the knife, the President turned to a girl lounging on a chaise in the shade of a group of flowering plums and asked, "Synapse? What's up?"

She sat up, tore her eyes off the President, and looked toward the approaching figure. At first glance, one might wonder seriously what she was doing there at all. Short and slight, she sported a brief leather bustier under a chopped vest, and a petite leather skirt that maintained modesty by the slimmest of margins; boots of the same material came up to her knee; and every article of clothing was of the same unrelieved black that she had painted her nails and lips. Her head was shaved, except for a long queue that hung to the center of her back. It was dyed a livid, metallic purple. The eyes she turned on the President were of such a light shade of blue that it was difficult to tell where the cornea stopped and the iris began. But her pupils, rather than being round, were vertical slits like those of a great cat.

She drew her brows together briefly and said, "Jimmy-boy's here t' tell ya the base's gone t' Elevated security."

"Does he …"

"Nah. He don't know why. Just got some frickin' memo." She snorted and flopped back against the seat.

Joseph knew her well enough to understand that there was no immediate threat to his person. Though she wouldn't dream of giving voice to the fact, her feelings toward Dr. Brandt were plain to anyone who spent any time around her, mingling a fierce loyalty with an admiration that edged dangerously close to love. She would brook no threat to his person. Knowing what he did of her abilities, Joseph felt confident that no such threat existed within three hundred meters. If there was danger, she would be doing something about it.

The staffer hurried up to him and said, "Sir, we've received word …"

"Yes, James, I know. Synapse told me."

James glanced over at the super in question and grimaced. "Why do I even bother?"

"Back-up, my boy. System redundancy." He clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Fail-safes. Never put all your thermonuclear devices in one basket, et cetera, et cetera."

James raised an eyebrow. "Um … yes, sir."

"So, who sent the memo?"

"The … oh. Yes, sir. It came from the SecDef, sir."

"Ah. And I'll wager there was no reason stated for the level-up, was there?"

"No, sir."

The President sighed. "I suppose I'll have to call Winston myself if I want to get the particulars."

A couple of the other staffers grumbled at that. The SecDef had quite a reputation for hoarding information. Most of the staff felt that it made Winston Mung feel more important if he knew something you didn't know, even if – or perhaps, _especially_ if – it was something he ought to have told you already. He preferred to wait until he had the perfect opportunity to unveil his tidbit in such a way as to make someone else look incompetent. If he hadn't been such a roaring good tactician, he wouldn't have kept his job for long. As it was, the rest of the staff had to grit their teeth and put up with his … idiosyncrasies.

Joseph walked over to a nearby table and stored his weapons. Then he and his entourage headed back up to the Manse.

##

Unless he was in front of a camera – and sometimes even then – Joseph Brandt tended toward a very casual mode of dress. He was fond of sport shirts and khakis, and frequently neglected to don his socks before slipping into his docksiders. His feet were comfortably up on his desk when Winston Mung walked into his office. Joseph placed the dossier he'd been reading on the desk, and stood to greet his guest. "Winston! How are you today?"

They shook hands briefly and the Secretary of Defense took a seat. "Not bad, Joe, not bad. It's a fine day to be alive in North America."

"I don't disagree with you there. But I would like to know some of the details behind our current alert status."

"Oh, that." Winston waved the query off. "Nothing important. Just some fear-mongering from the NSA."

"Hmm. What sort of fear-mongering?" He could read the pompous Mr. Mung like a billboard, and he didn't care for what he saw. The man was keeping something back, and Joseph meant to find out what.

"The usual. Unsubstantiated rumors. Going off half-cocked."

"And who is it that is going off half-cocked this time?"

"Who?"

"Yes. Who, in the NSA, did you speak with?"

"Oh. Um, well, it was an international call so we didn't have visual, so I can't really …"

"But you did identify the individual, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course." He seemed indignant.

"And his name?"

"Ah … her, actually."

"Her, then. With whom did you speak?"

"Uh … Mrs. Incredible."

Joseph's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Is that right?

"Yes."

"And what – _precisely_ – did Mrs. Incredible say?"

"Oh, something about some mercenary rabble. Really, I don't know why you'd want to bother …"

"Winston."

"Uh … yes?"

"Who is the premier super-team on our payroll?"

"Umm … that would be Team Incredible."

"Indeed. That's what I thought. I was afraid that perhaps I'd missed something."

The Secretary didn't like the turn this conversation was taking. Joseph leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "When the tactical director of our most able super-team warns you of a danger, don't you think it might be prudent to look into it?"

"Ah … well, of course … given normal conditions … of course we would, ah, be, um, respectful of her opinion. But I don't think …"

"Winston."

The Secretary shut up. He suddenly realized a very tight corner had just materialized against his back.

"Winston, I want you to tell me what she told you. Not the executive summary. Not the Spark-Notes version. I want her _exact_ words. All of them."

"Well, of course you were going to get that! It's all in my report. I just haven't yet had the opportunity to …"

"Winston."

With each subsequent pronunciation of his name, the inflection had become less cordial. "Skip the drivel and fill me in. Now."

"Uh, right. She said that she had learned of a plot by some paramilitary outfit to come here and try to, um, get to you. They're supposedly working with the Russian mob."

"_Get_ to me?"

"Ah … yes."

"So. An assassination attempt."

"Well … yes, but there's no chance of …"

"Winston."

The Secretary's level of discomfort rose markedly at the frosty tone in Joseph's voice.

"Winston, I know you're proud of what's been accomplished here in terms of security, and I have no problem with that. You've done a great job. But any time you get wind of a plot to kill me, no matter how unlikely it might be, I would _**appreciate**_ it if you'd let me _know_ about it."

"Yes, sir."

"So were the mercenaries _hired_ by the mob?"

"She wasn't sure. But she did say they were working together."

"Did she know the name of the crime organization in question?"

"It doesn't really have one. The man who runs it is named Taruz Achmedjan."

"Achmedjan?" Joseph frowned in thought. "Wasn't he the one behind that recent attempt to remove our West Coast from the map?"

"That's just speculation, sir. One of the NSA liaisons thinks so, but there's no solid evidence."

"Uh-huh. Which liaison?"

"Alan Thomas."

"Alan Thomas. Doesn't he work with Team Incredible?"

"Ah … yes, sir."

"I'm beginning to see an unpleasant pattern here, Winston."

"What do you mean?"

"What have you got against Team Incredible?"

"Nothing! They do a great job! That is, a great job of … well, super-heroing. But …"

"But, what?"

"Well … they aren't, um, you know, intelligence agents, exactly."

"And you hold that against them."

"No!"

"Did they scoop you once? Is that your problem?"

"I don't _have_ a problem!"

"Fine. If you say so. We'll let that go for now."

The Secretary relaxed slightly and crossed his legs.

"So," continued the President, "did she know who this fellow Achmedjan is working with to try to kill me?"

"Yes. The group as a whole doesn't have an official name or anything, but the leader's name is Vlad Derevenko."

"Derevenko? _Colonel_ Derevenko? Of the People's Army of the USS?"

"Uh … yes, I believe she did say he had styled himself a Colonel. Is that … um …" He didn't much care for the expression on the President's face after hearing that name. "… is that … important?"

"Winston, are you going to sit there and tell me you've never heard of Vladimir Derevenko?"

"Well, no, of course I wouldn't say _that_. Of course I've _heard_ of him."

"Then why are you still sitting here?"

"Um … what do you mean?"

Joseph snorted in disgust and picked up his phone. "Carol? Would you please get the Security Chief in here?"

"Yes, sir. Immediately?"

"If not sooner. We have a situation brewing and it could get ugly in a big hurry."

"He'll be there in five minutes."

"Thank you. And, if you would, please send a message to the Secret Service to initiate Lockdown."

"Sir? Are we going to be attacked?"

"Yes."

"Right away, sir." There was a click as she disconnected. Joseph got up and went over to a gun cabinet in the corner. Unlocking it, he removed a pair of 9mm semi-automatic handguns and several clips of ammunition, along with the belts and holsters to hold them. He began strapping them on.

"Joe? What are you doing?"

"I'm doing my part to help keep my skin intact. When Samuel gets here, I want you to go meet with the Security Team and see if you can find any holes in our defenses."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that. This compound is as tight as …"

The President rounded on him. "Listen, Winston! _You_ may not know what we're about to be up against, but I do. Colonel Derevenko is one of the most brilliant military minds of our age."

"A brilliant mind won't do him much good when he runs into the Wall. Nothing can get through it when the grid is energized."

"Look. I'll use short words so you can follow this. He's a high-level member of the Russian army, and a genius. He wouldn't attack unless he felt that he had a good chance for success. That means we've got trouble. Big trouble."

"Wait. You mean he _works_ for the Soviet?"

"Yes."

"Why would the _Soviet_ be going after you? That doesn't make any sense!"

"I don't know. That one puzzles me." His expression hardened. "But if I live long enough, I intend to find out."

"Hang on! How do you know so much about …"

"I read a lot, which you evidently don't. Shut up and just _listen_ to someone for a change. Derevenko hasn't lost an _engagement_, much less a war, in over a decade. His tactics and weapons are at least as good as ours. If he's gunning for me, I am officially worried, no matter _where_ we are. As far as I'm concerned today, his reasons for doing so are purely secondary, and moot from our point of view."

The Secretary had no ready comeback. Joseph pulled a case out of the gun cabinet, laid it on his desk, opened it and removed a long knife. Winston came over and looked at it. The handle was beautifully wrapped in strips of a fine, brown leather and counterbalanced with a brass pommel. From thirty-five millimeters wide at the hilt, the blade curved gently to a sharp point. The material itself was a light silvery-golden color, and shimmered with iridescence in the sunlight from the window.

"What's that?"

"This is a gift from an old friend."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is. Beautiful, and extremely functional." He held it up in his left hand and went through a few forms, then sheathed it.

"What's it made of? It doesn't look like steel."

"It isn't. It's … a very special sort of glass. It's incredibly tough and one of the hardest substances ever made, and it'll cut clean through any blade of ordinary metal."

The door opened and Synapse came in, Security Chief Samuel Sprott trailing in her wake. Walking over to stand next to Joseph, she gazed up at him and said, "Th' Manse is clean, far as I c'n tell." Glancing over at Winston, her lip curling in scorn, she asked, "W'at's _he_ doin' here?"

"He was just leaving."

Winston Mung hated being dismissed that way, but there was little he could do about it. He strode out the door in a huff.

The three people left in the room looked up as a distant klaxon sounded Lockdown. Joseph caught Samuel's eye and said, "All your men on high alert?"

"Yes. All the entrances have been sealed. I've got three full platoons, well over a hundred men, staged through the Manse. There are nearly a thousand more outside, about half of them inside the Wall."

"Are Shambles and Ramrod up to speed?"

"As much as they can be when none of us really knows what's going on." He touched a finger to his left ear. "Ramrod? You secure?"

The super's deep voice came back clearly through the tiny speaker on Samuel's lapel. "I'm in position, if that's what you mean. Who are we waiting for?"

"I'll let you know in a minute." He switched channels and said, "Shambles?"

The voice that answered was as dry and lifeless as a cast snakeskin. "I am waiting. Whoever they be, let them come."

"Ah … right. Yeah, you hold down the fort there." He looked up at the President and asked, "What _is_ the emergency? Do we need to call in the Marines or something?"

"Colonel Vladimir Derevenko is going to try to assassinate me."

The man's eyes went round. "We've got to get you to the safe room! Bulletproof glass or no, you can't stay up here."

"Right. Time for us to go to ground."


	25. Chapter 25 Assault

Chapter Twenty-Five

The team that Yuri led numbered just over sixty, which meant that they were rather badly crowded together in the small communications access tunnel. His electronics expert was shoulder-deep in the wiring at a major junction. He craned his head back and said, "They've gone to lockdown."

"Damn! How'd they know we were here?"

"They may not. It's a general signal, no specifics. It might be a drill, or they might have other intel that they were going to be hit."

"No change in plans, then."

"No _major_ change. I've got a few more systems to deactivate now."

"Will that affect our schedule?"

"Not much."

"Good. Carry on."

The man did what he did best – and he was one of the best available – so that shortly they were on their way toward the southern command post, unimpeded by any electronic counter-measures.

The Colonel himself led a contingent of about a hundred and fifty. They were using an ionic disintegrator to make a tunnel that followed the path of the wastewater system, but ran about three meters beneath it. They'd been at it for close to two hours and had come within perhaps four hundred meters of their objective: the laundry in the Manse basement. Their tunnel extended back to the east some fifty-five hundred meters and exited the earth in the lee of a hummock on the edge of a landfill. They anticipated hitting the underground portion of the Wall in five minutes, and exiting in the laundry in thirty-four.

Davidovich's platoon broke ground twenty meters inside the inner fence of the northern end of the compound. One by one, the thirty-five hardened professionals exited the tunnel and melted into the landscape, their suits adapting to the terrain and blurring their outlines. They attacked and overran the two guard posts without raising any alarm, and situated four of their men in the buildings, already equipped with the correct passcodes and uniforms. As far as central command would know, everything was quiet and uneventful. The thirty-one men remaining used the compound's own troop transports and headed south for the Manse. They were to be one of three planned diversions, and had the firepower to pull it off. If they met with superior force, they were to fall back and high-tail it, but they did not expect that to happen. What they _did_ expect was to fetch up outside the Wall, expend a ferocious amount of ordnance in "trying" to breach it, and then retreat at full speed after the Manse blew up. There were only two checkpoints between them and their objective, and they were buoyed with confidence from their success so far.

However, Checkpoint Alpha was not manned. The gates were down and secured, and as far as they could see there was no one around to open them. Davidovich didn't like that at all. "This is not right. On Lockdown they are supposed to keep all checkpoints active. There is no reason for them to be elsewhere."

One of his lieutenants asked, "Is it possible that someone else is trying the same thing we are?"

"I would never believe it. The timing would be too big a coincidence. But I see no ready explanation for this."

"Perhaps," said one of the men nervously, "they have one of their supers stationed here."

Davidovich frowned darkly. "Then we will find out." He pulled out his infrared scanner and slowly panned the area, but found no hot spots at all. He shrugged and said, "In any event, we must go on through. Viktor, disable the gates."

One of the men hopped down and ran to the gate control. He slapped a flat, square box against it and pressed several buttons on a keypad on its side. In a few seconds the box beeped and the gates opened. The two transports moved into the shadow of the checkpoint guardhouse.

A lone figure stepped out from behind the building. He was tall and rail-thin, and sheathed in a black cloak that hung to his feet. His downcast head was covered with a wide-brimmed black hat, and his hands were tucked inside the cloak. He stopped in front of the lead vehicle and lifted his gaze to the driver.

That man shrieked, slammed on his brakes, and shrank back into his seat as far as he could push. The other man in the cab gasped and jerked out his pistol.

The cloaked figure raised a hand that resembled an owl's talon more than a human appendage. An indistinct area of dead black appeared around it, flickering instantly into a thin rod some two meters long. Both men in the truck stared at it in nauseated fascination. Then the figure threw it at the vehicle.

The lightless lance struck the windshield … passed through the windshield … left no mark on the windshield … and sank into the driver's chest. There was a subdued flash as colors near him altered for an instant, counterchanging almost like the negative of a photograph, and then the man slumped lifelessly onto the floor of the cab. The transmission engaged when his foot slipped off the pedals; the truck lurched forward a couple of times and then the engine died.

The dead man's initial cry of terror had galvanized the mercenaries in the back of the transport, and they came boiling out. But Shambles was ready for them. Two more lances of negative energy found their targets, and then two more. Dozens of bullets ripped through him, shredding his clothing and spraying gobbets of … _something_ … onto the road behind him. He didn't seem to notice.

Davidovich had been in the rear transport, and missed the beginning of this action, but he got caught up quickly. He watched in horror as his men went down, gaped in stark disbelief as their bullets struck and struck and struck in retaliation, to no effect.

In blind haste he grabbed up a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher, took aim, and fired. The missile hit the figure in the center of its torso and detonated. At such close range the explosion was deafening, and it didn't do the lead truck any good _at all_. But there seemed to be nothing left of the nightmare thing that had attacked them.

"Pavel! Yusef! Are those men dead?"

The squad leaders bent to check on the dozen men who had received the black darts. Pavel shook his head. "They didn't make it. I don't know _what_ that … that _thing_ did to them." He stared in morbid fascination at the stretched and yellowed parchment their skin had become. "I've not … seen anything like this before."

Davidovich took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Move them out of the way. And see if that transport will run."

"Yes, sir!"

They shortly discovered that although the engine of the damaged truck would start, both front tires had blown. The crippled vehicle limped off to the side to let the other one through. They began transferring what of their ordnance that they could to the operative truck.

No one noticed, in the grass and under the trees beside the road, many small, dark objects rolling and creeping and oozing toward a central location.

It took better than five minutes to get everything arranged and secured the way they wanted it. Davidovich got everyone loaded up and then walked back to the cab. He said, "Igor, man that fifty-caliber on top there."

"Yes, sir." Igor headed around to the other side of the big truck where the ladder was. Davidovich had barely gripped the door handle when he heard a strangled cry. The hair stood up along the length of his spine, and he wheeled around to stare at the back of the transport, just in time to see a flash of movement as _something_ disappeared into the open rear.

The men in the transport only caught glimpses of the skeletal thing before it was among them. Shambles had decided to change his tactics. No more thrown weapons. It was time to get up close and personal … time to reach out and _touch_ someone …

A few of the men managed to fire their weapons. Some of the wild shots even hit him, but more often they hit each other. The fight was over _very_ quickly.

Davidovich walked rigidly to the back of the big truck, both pistols out, eyes wide and fixed. The shaking and screaming in the vehicle had stopped. There had been a brief, low scuffling noise. Now all was silent.

"Pavel?"

He received no answer. Subconsciously, he knew he would not. He swung around the back of the truck, arms stiff.

No one there.

He glanced into the interior and the air left him. _All of them? It got all of them? How?_

He didn't hear anything approaching. He smelled nothing on the light breeze, though he was downwind. But something, some dormant instinct, made him spin around.

Less than a meter separated them. Davidovich fired both pistols into its midsection, but the thing's withered features merely cracked into a grimace that might have been a smile, and its long arms shot out to grip his own. Where the claw-like fingers touched him, his skin went dead. His guns dropped from nerveless hands. Fleeting memories of his grandmother's tales of the evil things that inhabited dark places at the edges of civilization flitted through his mind, and he would have screamed if he'd had the power to do so, but the cold had moved up his shoulders, invaded his chest. His breathing grew shallow and labored. His vision faded.

Shambles let the corpse drop to the ground. He walked over to the building and let himself in, then went to the communications desk. Ignoring the main board, he opened a locker and removed a small tight-beam unit. He took it outside, climbed the steel ladder attached to the building's side, and set it up on the roof. Aiming it due south, he pressed a series of keys and then stated, as clearly as his vestigial equipment would allow, "Checkpoint Alpha secure. Thirty-one bogies neutralized."

The response was immediate. Captain Albert knew what Shambles' report meant in this context and made a slightly squeamish face as he said, "Copy that, Shambles. Looks like the tip about the invasion was on the level. Good job."

"I will go back to the guard posts to see if they left anyone there."

"Roger. Let us know if you need backup."

"That should not be necessary. They did not use energy weapons. I doubt they could hurt me now anyway. I just absorbed a great deal of life force."

"Ah … Good luck, then."

"Once I finish there, may I get back to my study?"

"Um … hang on. I'm getting a … Okay, Chief. Shambles?"

"Yes?"

"To answer your question, not just yet. The Sec Chief wants you to work back toward the Manse, and sweep the area. We've got several hundred on patrol, but from preliminary reports it looks like the enemy is going for a subterranean attack. It won't be easy to track them, and some of them might be very close to the Manse right now."

A few moments passed before Shambles quietly said, "I was working on my memoirs."

"Oh! Still on chapter twenty-seven?"

"Almost done. Up to 1879."

"That's good to hear." Shambles was publishing his life story as a serialized work, a decade at a time, and everyone at the compound was anxious to read the latest installment. He was a talented writer, and was immensely gratified with the response his work was getting. "I know you're anxious to get back to that. But, uh, the President would like for you to be, you know … available. Just in case."

"Of course." If he'd been able to breathe, he would have vented a heavy sigh. "I am always at his disposal. But these interruptions are tiresome."

"Do you need a car?"

Shambles studied the transport that sat just outside. "No. I don't think so. But I think _you_ will want a cleaning crew to meet me when I get there. This vehicle is a mess."

"Roger that."

There were eight pairs of outposts arranged around the central compound, approximately at the eight cardinal points of the compass. Derevenko's plan was to neutralize all of them, hit the Manse from the inside, and leave enough high explosives behind them as they left to make figuring out what had happened very problematic. While he didn't anticipate any significant losses, he had contingency plans for completing the operation using as few as five of the twelve separate forces. His estimates of troop strength and ordnance had been spot on, and he was well prepared to deal with them. However, his knowledge of the compound's 'supplemental' defenses was a good bit sketchier.

Davidovich had failed to report at the last check in. Given the levels of redundancy in their communications setup, that could only mean one thing, and Colonel Derevenko cursed silently. He hated to lose men, made it a point of honor not to lose men, and the loss of this particular man would hurt.

But he couldn't let that distract him. This was a military operation and he would conduct it as such. He had his electronics expert patch into the compound's nexus and check for reports of battles, but there was no such buzz going on. Aside from the fact that the entire compound was still on Lockdown, there was no indication that anything was out of the ordinary.

_If they know we're here, they aren't talking about it._ That earned some grudging respect. He checked his watch again. _Eleven minutes to go. Then the real party begins._


	26. Chapter 26 Defense

Chapter Twenty-Six

Anton Baikov was a solid, reliable soldier, a man who knew the value in following orders. That he might not be the most imaginative fellow you'd ever meet wasn't a liability to Derevenko. Like pieces on a chess board, one simply needed to know how to use him. That's why he was leading the southwestern strike team.

They had pacified the guard post, and given the correct responses to queries from the control center, so the even fifty men, in a process identical to that which Davidovich had used, trundled off toward the Wall. They gave the passcode when they reached Checkpoint Kilo. As the lead truck went through, four of the mercenaries in the back opened fire on the guards. Several more men jumped out of the truck to carry the bodies out of sight and then take their places.

A guard at Checkpoint Lima had been stationed at a monitor screen, to watch the live feed coming from the outlying checkpoint. As he had come on duty less than twenty minutes previously, he was still alert and on top of things, so he was watching intently as the trucks went through. He jumped straight up with a cry of outrage when he saw the carnage they dished out.

A middle-aged black man hurried in through the door. He was dressed in a gray, one-piece maintenance coverall, and wore a Yankees ball cap over his short, thinning hair. "What happened?"

"We're under attack! Ramrod, they just _wasted_ Kilo!"

The older man's brows drew together. "I'll take care of it." He trotted outside, turned toward the southwest, and rose into the air, shooting off down the road at nearly half the speed of sound.

The drivers never had any warning, had no time to respond. One moment they were tooling casually down the road, just another troop transport going about its business, and the next, their vehicles simply shot straight upwards at a dizzying speed. Riding a column of solidified air, they reached a height of over three hundred meters in about four seconds. Then the air column faded, and they came down. Since Ramrod's air-related powers, though awe inspiring, were of short duration, his methods tended to be economical. He had long since learned that gravity could be a formidable ally.

He touched down lightly a dozen meters from the crushed vehicles. One had landed straddled across the other; both were very flat. A dozen or so of the mercenaries had jumped or been flung from the trucks, and lay broken on the ground. He walked toward the wrecks, keeping the air carefully stiff in case any of them survived to turn a weapon on him, but it soon became apparent that such caution wasn't necessary.

He lifted a wrist to his mouth and spoke. "You got any others comin' in anywhere?"

"No reports of any, but then we didn't have any reports of the first two until they'd already made it partway in. We could be crawling with them for all we know."

Ramrod sympathized with the obvious frustration in the officer's voice. He was quite the patriot himself, and had been outraged to learn of the assassination attempt. "I s'pose Synapse is with the President?"

"You know it." Most of the staff was aware of how the diminutive super felt about her Commander in Chief. "She's not letting him farther away than arm's reach."

"Good. Listen, if these guys are poppin' out of the ground, maybe you oughta get somebody to do a sonar scan of the compound."

"They're already on it. Why don't you come on back to base, in case you need to scat off somewhere else in a hurry?"

"That's a fine idea. Be right there."

##

Winston Mung was in his element. "Yes, I said _all_ primary Checkpoints! Pull every one of them back. Leave the monitors on full, but get out of there _right now!"_

"Yes, sir."

Mung had analyzed the attack and saw the danger at once. Silently he cursed himself for the oversight, and swore the weakness would be remedied in short order. Assuming they survived.

"Get all available scan units out to the grounds now!"

One of the men scrambled to fill that order. They might not like the Secretary personally, but they all knew his abilities as a tactician.

"You're looking for any anomaly in density. Anything that might be a hole or a tunnel."

"Sir? Inside the Wall?"

"Yes, blast it, inside! He must know a way to circumvent the Wall. Why else would he be here? I want to know where he is and I want to know _now!"_

##

Derevenko had anticipated that his attack strategy would be deduced. He had three other groups tunneling, just as he was, from the south, the northwest, and the northeast. He had expected at least one of them to be discovered before reaching the Manse, and had positioned their attack vectors at roughly a hundred and twenty degrees apart to give the impression that those three were all there were. Meanwhile, directly beneath the wastewater pipe, he relied on the existence of that void in the earth to mask his own.

##

"Where are they now?"

"Oh, 'bout a hundred fifty meters thataway." Synapse pointed slightly north of east, and upwards maybe thirty degrees. The safe room was about a hundred meters below ground level. It was proof against any physical attack form they knew about, and outfitted to supply a dozen people with ample food and water for a year. "That there disintegrator they got? That's a right sweet piece o' machinery." She turned to the President. "How much longer you wanna wait?"

"I doubt that his is the only tunnel. I'd like to catch them all if possible."

"Well, just so's you know, that thing's ion field is startin' t' mess with my powers. So I ain't waitin' much longer."

"Very well. You should probably go ahead and do it. I'd rather not risk lives just to snare all the rats."

She chuckled, closed her eyes, and concentrated . . . . .

##

Each of Derevenko's men carried an arsenal. Their plan included the utter destruction of the Manse, and they had with them the explosives needed to do the job. Since Synapse had no desire to have her home, the only _real_ home she'd ever known, converted to matchwood and gravel, she would have to do this with a bit of finesse. That suited her just fine.

The last man in line was right at the limit of her power's range. She would have preferred to use him, but at that distance she couldn't exert enough control. Midway along the line would have to do.

The man's name was Nik. He'd been with the Colonel for eight years, and was an expert knife fighter.

_Perfect._

Nik unobtrusively pulled his long blade from its sheath on his right leg, sank it to its hilt in the kidney of the man in front of him, twisted it, and slid it back out. That worthy gave a tortured, gasping grunt and went down. As he quietly eased his knife back into its sheath, Nik said, "Andrei, what's wrong?"

Andrei couldn't speak through the blinding pain. He flopped over on his side, effectively blocking the narrow passage. The man in front of him turned and scowled, snapping, "Get up! This is no time to rest!"

Andrei's head sank to the ground, mouth and eyes wide. The other mercenary knelt and felt for a pulse. He jumped up and shouted, "Andrei is dead!"

Confusion ran up and down the line. What had happened? How did he die? Was this an attack? Who is responsible?

Tunneling stopped for a moment, and the man running the disintegrator thumbed it over to 'idle'.

##

Synapse grinned to herself. They were making this too easy. She took over the front man, viewing the scene through his eyes. Everyone was staring back down the tunnel, trying to see what had happened. Slowly and carefully, she dialed the beam down from a hall-sized array to a tight spot a hand's breadth across, turned the disintegrator back in the direction they had come, and depressed the activation stud.

The beam hit the first man in line, who yelled and twisted in brief agony before his midsection crumpled in on itself. As he fell, his breathing unit passed through the beam.

It is important at this point to know that every man in the tunnel carried a supplemental air supply with him in the form of a small canister that metered out into his helmet a constant stream of slightly-pressurized air. With that many men in that tight a space, the air would quickly become foul, and the ionic bleed-off from the disintegrator didn't help matters. So the unit had enough air to keep each man in good shape for the trip in and the subsequent escape, with a safety factor of two. That meant that, at the time of this incident, the unit in question still had better than three quarters of its supply, still under very high pressure.

The canister ruptured. An instant later it tore itself loose from the soldier's pack, and ricocheted off the roof of the tunnel. It screamed back through the tightly-packed men, leaving three broken arms, a dislocated shoulder, and a slight concussion in its wake before the air bled off.

Meanwhile the ionizing beam took out the next two men in front. Derevenko was sixth in line, and he saw what was happening. Without hesitation, he pulled his sidearm and put a bullet through the faceplate of the man with the disintegrator. He and the device fell to the floor. The disintegrator landed askew and proceeded to create a hole a dozen centimeters across in the side of the tunnel.

The Colonel holstered his weapon and said, "Illiyich, turn that thing off."

The man in front of him hurried to comply.

"How many did we lose?"

"Viktor, Tev and Antonin," Illiyich nodded at the corpse at the front of the tunnel, "and Grigoriy. And the word came up that Andrei had died, but I don't know that for sure."

Derevenko looked at his watch. Seven minutes to go. "Tamislav, man the disintegrator."

"Yes, sir."

They were shortly underway again.

##

Synapse winced and looked over at Joseph. "They're headed for the laundry."

"Well. That's novel. Death by detergent, you think?"

She gave him a pained look. "Mebbe you can kill 'em with your sense o' humor. Give _me_ a break for a change."

"You feeling the strain?"

"Nah. Just messin' with ya." She closed her eyes and turned her attention back to the invading crew. Being inside someone's head when that person got killed was always a disorienting experience. It took her half a minute or more to get herself back under control.

##

Derevenko wasn't sure what form the attack was taking, but he strongly suspected that they had, indeed, run afoul of some kind of unknown defense system. He was beginning to have serious doubts about their chances of success.

_Five more minutes. Just five more minutes and we'll be inside._

##

"There's two groups now. One comin' in from the north."

"I thought Shambles had the north covered."

"He ain't coverin' tunnels."

"Does Winston know?"

"… Yep. Heck, he knew 'fore I did." She chuckled ruefully. "Gotta give that sucker credit. He might be a pain in the butt, but he's a _crafty_ ol' pain in the butt."

"That's why he is where he is." He gave the slight girl a thoughtful look. "Is the first group still moving after what you did?"

"Yep. Hush now and let me work."

##

Among the weaponry they carried, some of the mercenaries had various devices of distraction: stink bombs, flash grenades, magnesium flares, that sort of thing. A man about a third of the way back from the front had just what she needed. Completely unaware of what he was doing, he casually extracted a capsule from a case on the front of his belt and dropped it on the floor of the tunnel. Fifteen seconds later, one of the men behind him stepped on it. There was a muted _bang_ and the tunnel began to fill with dense, dark brown smoke.

Pandemonium broke out. Already jittery from the losses they'd suffered, the men were sure this was another attack. Two of the men at the rear of the cloud lifted their automatic rifles and started blazing away. Before Derevenko and his lieutenants restored order, thirteen more men lay dead or dying on the glassy floor of the long, long hole that was starting to remind many of them of a grave.

##

"There's another gang comin' in from the southeast. Mung found 'em. He's settin' up a neuroshock unit in their path."

"Good man. What about that second group?"

"He's knocked a bunch of 'em cold. There's maybe half of 'em turned tail when their buddies up front fell over. They're outta range now." She allowed herself a giggle. "He's got the grounds crawlin' with scanner teams. They'll have every mole, grub, an' dirtworm catalogued by th' end o' the day."

##

Winston Mung was beginning to feel better about the whole affair. The President was safe. They had captured or killed scores of the enemy. True, they'd lost a couple dozen of their own soldiers, but on the whole it was shaping up into a successful engagement. They had detected five more groups of infiltrators trying to get past the outer Checkpoints in the last four minutes. The tactical coordination these guys had frankly impressed him, and in a different venue it probably would have worked. He was still a bit nervous that they might turn up a super of their own, but he figured that he'd have seen some evidence of it by now if they had one. He dispatched troops to engage the groups coming in on the eastern front. Ramrod and Shambles were taking care of the other side, and Synapse, so far as she would tell him, had the below-ground situation well in hand.

##

"Colonel, with all due respect, I think our wisest course would be to get away while we can."

Derevenko's rage simmered just below the surface. More than a score of his men killed, half that many more out of action, and every time someone tried to pick up the disintegrator, it was too hot to touch. The fact that the infrared scanners showed it to be quite cool had little bearing on the pain the men felt, or the blisters that covered their hands. The hot shards of torment in the Colonel's own left palm gave mute assent to the reality of their predicament.

He heaved a long sigh. "Very well. Turn the men around. Let's get out of here."

##

It was another five hours before the Security Chief sounded the 'All Clear' and the President could leave the safe room. By the time he made it back up to the Manse, all of the North American casualties had been recorded and all the captured invaders (those left alive) were en route to a maximum security zone away from the compound. They were still working on estimates of how many had been involved in the whole operation, and how many got away.

Winston Mung and Samuel Sprott were wrangling over a table full of artifacts when Joseph entered his office. "… said it a thousand times, you can't trust those Rooskies! If this doesn't bear that out, I don't know _what_ would convince you!"

The Security Chief was obviously holding his temper with an effort. "If you please, sir? That doesn't make _any_ sense. What could they possibly hope to accomplish?"

"I know, but …"

"We've never bowed the knee to terrorists before; it's our policy not to give in to the demands of kidnappers. They know that."

"Yeah, but …"

"Just look at that Carpenter fiasco two years ago. Those guys had a perfect setup, a perfect pinch, got away clean with the Ambassador's whole family. But did we pay them?"

"No, we didn't. But that _isn't_ the _point_."

"I think it is. If this Derevenko character really is behind this, he must be doing it on his own time."

"Those Soviet military types don't _fart_ without their higher-ups approval, and you know it!"

"Be that as it may, I still say we can't just jump in and accuse the Soviet of trying to start a war. Not without talking to them first."

The President asked, "What makes you think it was a kidnap attempt?"

Mung answered, "By examining their attack. If they were simply out to kill you they could have done so in several easier ways. That they didn't, especially given the sophistication of their tactics, indicates an extraction. You _are_ the logical target for such a mission." His eyes narrowed. "We'll find out for sure once we interrogate a few of the survivors."

Joseph walked over and began examining the items on the table. Ultra-high-power synthetic explosives, anti-personnel mines, state-of-the-art communications equipment, and four ionic disintegrators lay in neat rows before him. He picked up a disintegrator. "What if it _**is**_ just a hit?"

The other two men looked at him. Samuel said, "What do you mean?"

"As I understand the situation, Colonel Derevenko got financial backing from the Russian mob."

"Maybe so," Winston put in, "but that still doesn't explain how a ranking member of the Soviet Army ended up on North American soil, in the Presidential compound, armed like this! I can't _believe_ – and I can't believe you'd _think_ – that someone like him could operate in a vacuum. They just don't _work_ that way over there! You _know_ that!"

Samuel started to protest again, but the President held up a hand. He sighed and said, "Much as I hate to think it, Winston does have a point. That's an awfully tight-knit setup they run over in Moscow."

Winston crowed, "Exactly my point!"

"Wait just a minute, though. Let me drop the other shoe."

"… And what's that?"

"Plausible deniability."

"There is _nothing_ plausible about this attack!"

"Simmer down. Just because something is hard to believe doesn't mean it's impossible. I want to have a talk with the Premier in the morning. Where's Ambassador Curtis?"

"He was in Moscow day before yesterday. They've got some kind of official meeting coming up in the next few days, but I'd have to check my calendar to find out exactly when and what it is."

Joseph nodded. "You do that. He needs to be in on the conference when we talk tomorrow." His brow darkened. "I _don't_ want a war. But I'm not going to just sit idly by when my country is attacked, either."


	27. Chapter 27 Military

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"You comfortable, Shield?"

"Mmm. Very. This is nice."

"Thank you. It make me happy to make others good to feel. Is why was physical therapy for life work."

Violet settled more deeply into the padded and perfectly molded cradle that was Morph's current form. "You're awfully good at it."

Dash walked by on his way back from the cockpit of their military transport and spotted his sister in her hammock of bliss. He snorted and asked, "Can I get you anything? A drink? A pillow? Oh, wait, you've already got the best one available. Hey, I know, how about a string quartet in the background?"

She just smiled dreamily. "I'm too comfortable to spar with you right now, Dash. Maybe later."

He blew her a raspberry and went back to the main seating area. Since this plane's purpose was to get soldiers from one place to another in the shortest possible time, it was a bit short on amenities. The seats provided were adequate, but nothing fancy.

Dash glanced around briefly at the other supers in the aircraft. He'd met at least half of them only that morning, and since most of them spoke no English, and he spoke precious little Russian, there wasn't much to go on. Firefox, Mute, and Kreshcheyev provided translation when it was necessary, but for the most part it was a very subdued bunch. One new super, a Lithuanian girl who went by 'Corona', sat apart from the rest in a self-contained chamber. There was a large pane of some clear material on the near side so that she could see out, which meant Dash could see in. He didn't know whether she had a suit or uniform or anything, since her skin was bathed in a constantly flickering blue flame that blurred her outline. He thought she was probably short, but seated as she was it was difficult to say. He felt sorry for her. Human interaction was a luxury she could indulge only under certain very tightly-controlled circumstances, since physical contact with her resting-state form would be instantly fatal to any normal creature. Kreshcheyev had explained that she could focus the weird radiation into a beam of considerable power, but that her control left a bit to be desired.

The liaison was arguing with one of the other new supers, an older woman who had some kind of water-control power. Dash couldn't really catch what they were saying, but then he caught sight of Reckoning and lost interest in the conversation.

He was huddled against the wall of the fuselage, staring off at nothing, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth. He'd been a mass of nerves ever since they got on board, meeting any question with a monosyllabic reply, and keeping entirely to himself. Dash thought this very much out of character and couldn't help wondering what the deal was.

For Ivan's part, things could hardly get worse. He was headed into a confrontation with the one being on the planet he truly feared, and what was even more troubling, Violet Parr would be there as well. He had to prevent that. Somehow he _**had**_ to keep her away from The Demon. But even his agile mind hadn't come up with a plausible excuse for her not to participate in the upcoming battle. In terms of ability she was the most powerful super in the group.

Of course, if power levels were the only criterion, there was Mute to consider. She had been absorbing a healthy dose of Vibe's output a few times a day over the last couple of weeks, and so could probably outmatch Violet in raw expenditure of power. But she would only have a few shots available at that level, and Violet's endurance limits for the length of time she could maintain her shields had never been reached.

Firefox was another he'd have to watch. While his ability didn't seem at first blush to be all that powerful, knowing that distance was no object to its efficacy brought many interesting (and disturbing) scenarios to Ivan's mind. He was sure they'd occurred to the other super already, and in all likelihood some had been used before. If the telekinetic could disarm or wound or kill someone a few kilometers away simply by using a good pair of binoculars or a remote camera … well, he'd bear watching. It was one more annoying variable in Ivan's increasingly complex set of equations.

A message came back from the cockpit that they would begin their descent in ten minutes. Those supers who could made their way to their seats and strapped in. Ivan stared apprehensively out the tiny, round window at the brown-and-tan landscape speeding by below.

##

The ride from the landing strip to the point where the Soviet forces were arrayed took just over half an hour, but it was entirely too long for Mr. Incredible. His back had been touchy all day, and the jostling and sudden changes in acceleration hadn't been any help. He wanted Morph to work on it again, but that would have to wait. There was much work to be done. In the meantime he just had to be very careful.

Firefox was supervising the unloading of what appeared to be a small building. It fairly bristled with antennae and radomes, and the crew quickly loaded it onto the back of a large flat-bed transport.

Dash zipped up beside the telekinetic and asked, "What's that?"

"My command post." He patted the side of the unit. "This is what will give me the edge in the fight."

"How so?"

"I've got just about every conceivable distance-viewing device in there known to man, and dozens of little robotic remotes. I'll be able to zoom in on various portions of the battle and do my thing via monitor."

"Uh-huh! That's pretty slick. And you don't expose yourself to danger, either."

"Nope. I'm nobody's idea of bullet-proof, and I imagine bullets will be the _least_ of the weapons they'll have. I won't do any of us any good if I get perforated or flattened or charred to a cinder. However," and here he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, "this way I can really fight, really contribute something to the cause."

"So you've used it before?"

"Several times in practice and once in an actual battle. The fight was a very short one."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. When better than half of the terrorist leaders suddenly, shall we say, 'lost their heads', the rest of the rabble quit the field in a hurry."

"… Bleahhhhh!"

"Yeah, well, it was very effective. You should have seen that squad commander's face when his superior officer's melon bounced onto the ground in front of him. It was quite a show."

Dash slapped him on the back. "I'm glad you're on our side."

"Thanks." He looked around. "These guys have the setup well in hand. What other damage can we do around this joint?"

"I dunno. Let's go see."

##

President Joseph Brandt slammed the phone down into its cradle.

Samuel asked, "No luck?"

"No, blast it all! They won't talk to me. None of them. It's like they've circled the wagons or something."

Two of the Joint Chiefs, generals of the Marines and the Air Force, were sitting in chairs to the right of the President's desk. Winston Mung sat to their right, near the corner of the desk. He shook his head disapprovingly and said, "I told you so."

"Don't start."

"Really, I hate to say it, but …"

Samuel put in, "Since when?"

Winston glared at him. "You may as well just go ahead and admit that I'm right. Save a little dignity."

Samuel glared right back and crossed his legs silently.

"Gentlemen," said the President, "internecine conflict won't help us. Sam, much as I know how it pains you, it would appear that Winston is correct in this case."

The Secretary muttered, "Damned with faint praise."

"Not at all. There is no condemnation here, Winston. I find these circumstances very distasteful, but we must face facts. We were attacked by a group of Russian nationals. If we had not had prior warning – from one of our own supers, I might add – the assault might very well have been successful. The leader of that group is a high-ranking officer in the Soviet military machine, which we know to be a ferociously autocratic organization. The Soviet is making no effort to deny any culpability, and the oligarchs seem to be avoiding communication. It doesn't take a rocket scientist or a career diplomat to add up _that_ column. Something is definitely fishy."

"Sir?" said the Air Force General, "we'll have the air defense teams at full capacity across the Arctic Circle and the Pacific Rim by tomorrow night. The missile emplacements are all prepped, and about half of them are hot right now. We've got eighty percent coverage with the Hellbore particle cannons. If they try an air assault, they'll be sorely disappointed. We'll knock 'em out of the sky."

"I'm glad to hear that." He sighed and shook his head. "Much as I hate to contemplate it, we might be forced into just such a position." He sat back, made a fist, and lightly pounded the arm of his chair a few times. "But … Samuel has a valid point; it really doesn't make sense for them to attack us."

"Sensible or not, Sir, we have to be ready."

"I know, I know. It's our duty to keep the continent safe. And nobody is going to invade us if I have anything to do with it." His mouth drew into a grim line. "Not on my watch."


	28. Chapter 28 Engagement

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ambassador Adam Curtis had been in his share of tense situations since taking this appointment four years ago. The Soviet was constantly being hounded and pricked and bothered by some sort of separatist group or terrorist organization or criminal cartel or rebel band that didn't like being part of the conglomerate. Or, in some cases, wanted to take over the conglomerate. No matter. Mr. Curtis had performed his duties well, and had often represented his government's interests in ways that benefited all parties involved. He could count as friend more than one high-level official. This made his current situation all the more aggravating, and helped to explain his annoyance with the party official who had recently joined him.

"Does diplomatic immunity mean _anything_ to you, Gospodin Berin?"

"Please, Ambassador. You are not under arrest."

"Then why am I being detained?"

"You are _not_ being detained, Ambassador. The Premier merely wants to speak with you."

"If he wants to talk so badly, I'd think he could get here in less than seven hours and …" He glanced at his watch. "… twenty-six minutes."

"He was unfortunately delayed."

"Then I should like to contact my staff. There are several matters that need my attention."

"I feel sure the Premier will be with you shortly. It would be a sad waste of time for you to have waited so long, only to miss his arrival by such a small margin."

"And I feel sure – _quite_ sure – that there must be a phone near here. I will be more than happy to cut any of my conversations short, should the Premier arrive while I am discussing my schedule with my staff."

"That is certainly reasonable, Ambassador. I will find a phone for you to use." And he turned abruptly, leaving the fuming Mr. Curtis in his wake.

Outside the room, after making sure the door was locked, he addressed the guard, "No one is to enter until I return."

"Of course not, Gospodin." The subject of meals did not arise. The Ambassador had been supplied with sufficient viands for the time being. The guard, who had known Mr. Curtis for over two years and liked him as an individual, was troubled by this subterfuge. "Should I continue to remain silent if he pounds on the door again?"

"Yes. I will be back as soon as the Premier decides what to do with him. He will stay here until that time."

"Yes, Gospodin." He remained stiffly at attention as Berin left.

The functionary descended to the ground floor and walked down the length of three hallways to an unassuming door, which he opened. Two of his men looked up as he entered the room.

"Is the North American embassy secured?"

The taller of the two said, "Yes, Gospodin. The personnel have been transferred to the interrogation facility outside Maklev Prison, as you directed. Our specialists are going through the embassy building now. We will find out all about the North Americans' plans, whatever they are."

The other one asked, "Have you discovered why the Council has made this move?"

"No. Nor is it my place to ask; even less is it yours. They have some valid suspicions or they wouldn't act so."

His man, chagrined, said, "Yes, Gospodin. I apologize."

##

Taruz Achmedjan sat in his inner sanctum, analyzing the upcoming battle. The wall opposite his desk had opened to show an even dozen large monitors. Two of them relayed information from a pair of high-altitude drones that he had circling his compound at varying distances. He had already picked out the forces assembling to the east, and his troops were gearing up to face them. A ferocious smile playing across his face, he set up his platoon positions like chess pieces. _Let them make haste. I have quite the reception prepared. _

One of the newer servants scuttled quietly in through the door, dropped a slim document into the box on The Demon's desk, and quickly retreated. Lord Tar had noticed him of course, but was too occupied with his battle plans to pay any significant attention to him at the time. After several minutes, though, he glanced over at the envelope, saw who it was from, and snatched it out of the box.

That Lord Tar was insane was apodictic. That fact did not, however, make him stupid. He had been having suspicions about his assassin-in-chief for a while now, and had recently assigned one of his intelligence agents to find out where Ivan Bolodnikov spent his spare time. Eagerly, he tore open the envelope, removed the multicolored sheet, and fed it into the decoding machine.

Task: Track subject Ivan Bolodnikov and determine where his loyalties lie.

Point 1: He traveled widely over the last three weeks which did not seem to have anything to do with your goals. He worked with agents of the CCK and was in their headquarters. He was seen by two of my men in the company of one of the North American supers, the girl known as Shield. He has not led them to any of our people, nor has he revealed any of our locations in the field that I am aware of.

Sub-point 1.1: Bolodnikov met with some of his own men recently, and became very agitated afterward. I followed up on what they told him, and found that he was tracking the movements of Col. Derevenko's mercenary force. I was unable to discover why at the time.

Sub-point 1.2: The mission that you assigned to Derevenko was a complete failure. The North Americans seemed to expect an attack. The Colonel lost more than a third of his mercenary contingent in the raid, many of whom were captured, and is currently in hiding, presumed still in N.A.

Point 2: As a result of the raid, the Soviet and North American governments are currently ramping up for hostilities. I felt that you should be aware of this development, as it may have a bearing on your short-term plans.

Point 3: While following Bolodnikov's moves, my mole discovered that the CCK knows the location of your headquarters. He was not able to find out how they knew.

Sub-point 3.1: The Soviet military and the CCK are planning a full-scale attack on your compound. The timetable for this attack is not known, but it seems reasonable to assume that they will not wait very long before making their move.

Sub-point 3.2: Some of my men believe that Bolodnikov may be numbered among that force the Soviet is preparing. That seemed very unlikely to me, but they insist it is so, and had some long-range photos to back them up. I did not think even he could be so foolhardy, but I have nothing concrete to dispute this claim.

Respectfully, Jirka Krejci

_With the CCK? With one of the hated North American supers? After everything I have done for him? This is worse than I had suspected!_

Lord Tar had his left hand resting on the edge of the console's frame, and while reading through this communiqué, unconsciously he began to squeeze. The heavy-gauge steel bent under the pressure from those fingers and protested the treatment with a high-pitched squeaking. His eyes began to glow with that dangerous yellow light, but he suppressed his anger.

_How could he dare? How could Ivan do this? And how could he imagine that he could interfere with my plans by warning the North Americans of Derevenko's attack?_

He would deal with this quisling later. Oh, yes, dear Ivan would come to know pain in ways he had not previously imagined. He would beg for the release of death.

Another thought occurred to him, drawing his brows together dangerously. Perhaps … just perhaps … Ivan had also had something to do with the failure of Project Vulcan. That would explain much.

_Not now_, he told himself. There was no time to ravel that line of thought today. Had Ivan been actively betraying him for months? Maybe yes, maybe no. He would find out later, and he would use techniques that would guarantee truth. Dear Ivan would be thrilled beyond measure to tell him everything. But first, there was a battle to win and large numbers of supers to kill.

##

Two regiments of the Soviet's finest had assembled for this little war. They were far enough away from The Demon's compound that he wouldn't know (they hoped) that anyone was near until they were almost there. All their transports were fast, maneuverable, and lightly armored. Only the latest in high-tech tanks and particle-weapon platforms were to be used here. They would thunder down on Achmedjan at a hundred and twenty klicks and sweep everything out of their way.

That was the plan, anyhow.

The supers were together in a group, near the front, roughly in the center of the expedition, but with freedom to move where they felt the need. The regular army commanders weren't used to having such a diverse force to play with, and it made them uncomfortable. On the one hand, some of them were afraid of being upstaged. On the other, they really had no idea how to put them to the best use. And a few grumbled about them being in the way. Some of those grumbles were shortly to turn to thanks.

The first rank of shock troops met them when they were still quite a few kilometers from their goal. There weren't many of them. There didn't have to be.

Initial contact came on the right flank. A squad of mercenaries popped up out of a depression and fired on the tank unit closest to them. A pair of thin beams, one green, one red, hit the lead tank in the treads. There was a ghastly explosion and all the near vehicles were thrown violently back, tumbling like feathers in a gale. The entire area was momentarily obscured by the huge ball of dust and smoke.

Even if they hadn't heard the deafening noise, the lurch of vibration through the ground would have alerted the rest of the force. Everyone looked north at the rising pall of blackness.

Kreshcheyev hit his communicator. "Corona! Pop up and see if you can spot the enemy."

The glowing blue super sprang from a hatch in the top of her mobile habitat and zipped off north, fifty meters above the ground. She was at the site of the explosion in seconds, but there was no obvious enemy force; certainly nothing that could pack a punch like that. Warily she circled the area of devastation. On her second pass, the twin beams lanced up at her, missing by a hand's breadth.

She swooped down in a series of tight arcs, dodging another beam before getting close enough to see that the enemy force consisted of exactly four men. Two of them operated the odd weapon that had wreaked so much havoc on the armor. The other two had snatched up automatic rifles and were trying to draw a bead on her. Enraged, she unleashed a massive energy blast of her own.

Now, in her resting state, exposure to the rays her skin gave off would be fatal to normal humans in a _very_ short time. But the intensity of her candent output was tied in with her emotional state. The 'hotter' she got … well, the hotter she got. So what hit the mercenary squad was a lethal wash of radiation sufficient to fuse some of the sand they stood upon into bits of glass. It also had an unfortunate reaction with their energy weapon, which promptly detonated.

Corona was blasted up in a long arc, and would have splattered across the landscape except that Firefox caught her before impact. He lowered her gently into her habitat, and flipped the hatch shut. The AI doctor built into it immediately began working on her injuries, even as things heated up all around them.

This brief exchange had lasted just under half a minute, and it seemed to serve as a sort of signal, because the rest of the mercenary force opened up in earnest. The battle was joined at six points along the front of the assault force.

Dash zipped ahead, racing for immediate contact with the foe. Bob and Julia were teamed up with Morph and Swifter, and they went to work on the group just to their south. Reckoning had stuck as close to Violet as circumstances would allow, which in this case was practically at her elbow. Mute was with them as well, and was itching to let loose with some of the energy she'd been fed over the past weeks.

Another of those paired beams hit one of the tanks in front of them. Violet flicked a dome around them before the shock wave arrived, protecting them from the high-velocity debris, but they still couldn't see anything through all the dust and smoke. The red and green lines appeared again, this time hitting the force field squarely, but nothing happened. All three had seen the impact, which lasted about a second. Reckoning asked, "Did you feel that?"

"No! Not a thing!"

"But your field stopped it."

"Yeah, caught that. I'd give a pretty piece to know just what the heck it is. It sure does a number on the tanks."

Mute nodded. "Is right. Can get closer?"

In answer, Violet created a floor under them and used another field to shoot them up and slightly forward. Both of the other supers fell on their rears. Ivan looked up at her in irritation. "A little warning?"

"Sorry. We don't have time for manners." They cleared the majority of the smoke cloud as they topped the ballistic arc, and took a quick survey of the scene below. Violet spread a large, triangular field above them, attached it to their bubble, and glided forward at a gentle angle, riding the newly-forming updrafts.

Violet, who knew what to look for, could see signs that Dash was still trying to get to the central group that had fired on them. He raced around, apparently searching for a way over or past some barrier she couldn't see. She wondered, _Do they have force fields of their own?_

Mute said, "Get closer! I fix them good."

Violet shrank the glide field, and they fell toward the ground at a good ninety klicks. "How close you need to be?"

"Is good to be fifty meters. You open hole in field?"

"No problem." And she did just that. Then she tapped her Team Incredible com unit and said, "Dash, get out of there! We're about to blow it." Instantly she saw a dust trail streak away. She nodded at the other woman. "Let 'er rip."

Mute leaned forward eagerly and clasped her hands together, both index fingers pointed at the weapons platform below them. "Now I show them what they fight." The air around her hands became hazy, translucent rather than transparent, and a high whining began to build, just out of range of hearing. After a quick count of three, she cut loose.

The recoil flung them high into the air, which surprised Mute. Normally there was no backlash to speak of … but normally she didn't have this much energy stored. Her concussive blast, the speed of which the CCK had measured at approximately Mach 12, struck straight down on the emplacement with a force equivalent to more than eight hundred tons of TNT. Mute could vary the scatter of the blast, to a degree, but this time she had concentrated it into a quasi-solid beam. She didn't want any more splash than necessary, and intended for all of the kinetic energy to hit her target. The three in the force bubble had ringside seats to quite a show.

The emplacement and everything in it was immediately reduced to a near-two-dimensional state, and driven into the hard, dry ground some fifteen meters. The resulting crater kicked up far more dust than any of the previous explosions. They could actually see the shock wave radiating out from ground zero, disturbing the earth in an ever-widening ring, and disrupting the battle everywhere.

Violet got their bubble righted and re-deployed the glide wing. "Holy socks, Mute! What did you do?"

The older woman stared at her hands and then looked up at Violet. "Is never … is not happen … like that … before." Her knees buckled, she flopped over sideways, and lost consciousness.

Reckoning felt for a pulse and nodded. "Guess that took more out of her than she thought it would."

They caught a few random sprays of small-arms fire, and one anti-tank missile. Two more paired beams found the force bubble briefly, but again stopped at the invisible barrier, doing no damage at all. Violet concentrated on her steering, and glided them down to the rear of the expedition, near one of the ambulances. They quickly turned the unconscious super over to the medical types, and made for the front again.

It looked like four of the original six groups were still fighting. The Soviet armor was getting its clock cleaned, but they were sticking with the battle anyway, most of the men on foot by now. Fortunately, three of the four mercenary teams seemed to be concentrating on the supers that were attacking them.

"Shield, I think they have some kind of force field generators of their own."

"I was wondering about that. I'd be curious to see whether they can stand up to mine."

"Hey, look!"

Violet's head whipped around to where Reckoning was pointing. The nearest two emplacements had disgorged several small vehicles apiece. Each carried a single rider, and it looked like the designers had used some kind of ground-effect energy propulsion system. They floated half a meter above the earth, and raced to and fro at a surprising speed. Three of them headed straight for Ivan and Violet.

Reckoning drew his machine pistol. "Leave me a hole to shoot through."

"Got it."

Several sprays of heavy slugs splattered across Violet's field, with no apparent effect. Ivan loosed three short bursts, and the then-riderless vehicles swerved wildly before coasting to a stop. Violet glanced over at him. "Nice shootin' there, Tex."

"Thanks." He holstered the pistol. "Let us go get some more."

##

Very few minutes had passed since first contact, and although the fight still raged over much of the field, Reckoning could tell that the Soviet forces were gaining the upper hand. He and Violet had taken out twelve more of the high-speed gunbuggies, when she noticed something going on to the south. "Hey, Erkki, you got telescopic vision in that fancy helmet?"

"Yes."

"Look over there. Who's that getting into that transport?"

"Looks like Mr. Incredible, Vibe, Swifter, Smithy, and … I guess that must be Morph." He watched for a few seconds and then said, "They are leaving."

"Leaving? Which way?"

"West. Toward … no! They cannot be! They are heading straight for The Demon's headquarters. Those fools!"

Another of the floating vehicles zoomed toward them. She didn't bother Reckoning this time, but just waited until it got within forty or fifty meters and then bisected it neatly with a field. She turned back to the other super and said, "No, not foolish. Sounds like a plan to me."

"_What?"_

"Yeah. C'mon. Let's follow 'em."

"But, Shield! We cannot … that is, I mean, we should not …"

"Oh, don't be such a baby! We can take him. If these fancy energy weapons are the best he's got, he's toast." She glanced around until she spotted another transport. Then she swooped them both into a force bubble and shot it over that way. "Okay, this one looks like it's intact. Let's go."

Reckoning climbed in after her, dread mounting in his mind. _This is bad. I've got to keep her away from there. I've got to!_

They sped off after the retreating vehicle, following its trail of dust.


	29. Chapter 29 Poison

Chapter Twenty-Nine

At some distance from the battle, perhaps halfway between there and Lord Tar's dacha, the air shimmered briefly and a lone figure flickered into being.

Leo stumbled a bit, but regained his balance in moments. He could feel the battle; feel the pain, the hatred, and the anger; feel the staggering loss of life. Each soul screamed in his mind as it left its shattered body, and the ringing howls echoed relentlessly. In response he erected the barriers as Kitsune had taught him, and the raging morass of loathing and fear and death faded to background noise.

Now able to concentrate, he drew a long breath and got his bearings. The dacha lay to the west. He noticed a pair of armored vehicles speeding away in that direction, but didn't consider them important enough to investigate, and frankly he had bigger fish to fry. The fate of the world could very well depend on his actions in the next few minutes.

He dialed several numbers into the teleporter and pressed the activation switch.

The wind blew steadily through the space he had occupied.

##

With Violet driving, Ivan had plenty of time on his hands to worry himself sick over what would happen when they came face to face with Lord Tar. He saw the first transport a few hundred meters up ahead as it apparently came into contact with some obstacle. It stopped cold and the supers piled out. They were immediately sprayed with automatic gunfire, of a heavy caliber if Ivan wasn't mistaken. Violet drew a quick hiss of breath and softly said, "Dad!" But Morph had ballooned into something big and puffy, and the other supers took refuge behind him.

They were about a hundred and fifty meters from the dacha when the first gun targeted their vehicle, a few slugs ricocheting off the reinforced windshield glass. Violet activated her personal field and extended it to include Reckoning. Fearing that the bullets would disable the vehicle, she placed a "cow-catcher" in front of the transport. Ivan could see the wisdom in that shape, as the bullets now were hitting it only at a glancing angle. It simply redirected their paths a bit instead of stopping them cold, so most of the kinetic energy was carried off with the bullet instead of impinging on the truck. By the time they were within fifty meters of the first transport the other party of supers had found a way inside and so all the guns had turned their attention to the new arrival.

Reckoning looked over at Violet. "How you holding up?"

"No worries." She spared him a quick glance. "You?"

"I just want _you_ to be careful."

She almost snickered. "This from the one of us who _isn't_ bullet-proof." Violet then saw the low rock wall that had stopped the other vehicle. With a couple of quick turns she jammed the driver's side of their transport against the rear of the first one.

"It is not bullets I am worried about," he muttered.

She gave him a funny look and then said, "Come on. Out your side." They crouched in the lee of the armored vehicle, nearly deafened by the continual pounding of the heavy bullets. Violet formed her field into a cylinder big enough for the both of them to run in and said, "What do you think about just crashing through the wall there?"

At that point a beam of sonic force punched a large hole in the roof toward the center of the dacha and a few stray tiles bounced off Violet's field. Vibe had rung the doorbell.

Ivan looked at the side of the big house, running through what he remembered of the floor plan, and paled a bit. "Um … maybe we should … go in around back, through the garages. Over that way." And he pointed right.

She caught his jaw with one hand and pulled his face around to hers. The fear behind his eyes was all too evident. "All right, mister. Out with it. Just what is it you aren't telling me?"

He clasped her hand in both of his and said, "V-s-sh-Shield … dear one … we have to get away from here."

"What? Why?" She pulled her hand free and rocked back away from him. "What's in that house that you're so bloody scared of?"

"Uh …"

"Tell me!"

Their conversation was interrupted just then. A large mass flew through the wall not too far from them and skidded to a stop in a tangled heap not five meters away.

It was her father. He wasn't moving.

She screamed then, and covered him with a field just seconds before the nearest two automatics started hammering away. She ran the few steps to his side, merging the two fields, and knelt beside him, rolling him over onto his back. His eyes were partially open, but unfocused, his breathing ragged. His super suit, an all-but indestructible weave of carbon- nanotube-reinforced hyperpolymer, was shredded down low on his right side. His skin, nearly as durable as the fabric, was scored with half a dozen shallow scratches, and was starting to puff up and turn an ugly red. Several small spots of some dark brown liquid were already raising blisters. She put out a hand toward the wound, but Ivan seized her arm and yelled, "No! Do not touch it!"

"Erkki, what the _**hell**_ is going on?" She peered at the wound, which was swelling as she watched. "What is that?" She grabbed Ivan's collar and jerked him around. "You've gotta save him! You _**hear**_ me? You knew something and you didn't tell us and now Dad's …" She looked down at her father then back at the young man next to her. "Is he …?"

Ivan nodded dumbly.

"What _is_ it?"

"Lord Tar has … it is like a poison. It comes out of his skin."

"What's the antidote?"

"There is no antidote."

"_What?_ How is that _possible?_ What kind of super _is_ he?"

"He is … not a super."

"… Huh?"

"He is a cyborg. Mostly machine. Very advanced. But not a super."

"But that … how does …" She looked back at her father. "Erkki, what can we do for him? He _can't_ die!"

His mouth drew into a thin line as his nimble intellect worked out a possible escape for them. Perhaps if he overstated the case slightly … "Move aside. And do not touch him." He pulled down the top of his super suit so he could remove his undershirt, wadded it up tightly, drew his glass knife and leaned over Mr. Incredible.

"What are you doing?"

He shot her an irritated look. "You want to save his life or not?"

"… Yes."

"Okay." Using the shirt as a pad to get a grip on Bob's skin, he grabbed the affected area and pulled it, stretching it up as far as it would go. A thin plume of smoke wafted up from that part of the shirt's fabric in contact with the wound. Then in several quick motions he sawed through the skin, separating it from Bob's torso, which immediately began bleeding profusely. As Violet gasped in alarm over what he had done, he quickly threw away the mess he held. He watched the wound closely for a few seconds, then said, "Now, use your fields to stop the bleeding."

"Do _what?_"

"Stop the bleeding. I know you can do it. Try."

"Um … okay." This was a very different application, but she shortly saw how it might be done. She also noticed that something sounded different and raised her head. "What's that noise?"

"What?"

"That … noise. No, wait." She looked at the large force field and saw that the heavy rounds were no longer ricocheting off of it. The automatics had ceased firing. "Must have run out of bullets."

"Yes. Finally."

With the guns not firing at them, they could more easily feel the irregular vibrations through the ground that told them a terrific fight was going on nearby. Violet was having some challenges with this band-aid process, but she got everything under control in just a few seconds. She shot Reckoning a venomous look and spat, "You could have stopped this!"

"No. I could not. They would have gone in anyway." He slumped a little. "We must go now."

"You can't just leave the rest of them in there!"

Eyes narrowed, he rounded on her. "I. Cannot. Help. Them. I cannot stop The Demon. Neither can you. Nobody can. But if we run now, we might later. Maybe. If we stay, we will die. This I know."

"Liar!"

He huffed in exasperation, thinking, _I will have to turn up the pressure a bit. _"Look, I got most of the affected area, but there will still be some poison in his system. He is tough, so I doubt that small amount will kill him, but he will be out of action for a while. He probably will not wake up for days. And meanwhile you have to keep his bleeding stopped." He gave her a steady look. "If you want to save him, we have to get him out of here."

"Uh …"

"We _have_ to _**leave **_–_**now**_ – before The Demon comes out after us."

Violet's mouth drew down tight as she concentrated on keeping all the bleeders blocked. "He normally heals really fast. If I can keep him plugged up for just a little while, his system should take over."

"If his system had not been compromised. And believe me, it has." He pointed at the prone super. "Does he look all right to you?" He knew the answer to that question already, and Violet's face showed that she did, too.

With a dangerous glint in her eye, she said, "You've got one unholy _**hell**_ of a lot of explaining to do, mister."

"Argue later. Run now."

Violet picked up her father with a third field and floated him back to the second transport. They quickly piled in, and Ivan took the controls, backing the vehicle and turning it in a sharp arc away from the dacha. They both felt a heavy thud through the ground, then another, then a large, ornate hardwood table, its legs covered in gold leaf, came hurtling through the hole her father had made in the wall. And right after it came The Demon.

He fell forward, having obviously been knocked that way, but bounced right back to his feet. His clothing hung from him in ragged strips, and he looked like he'd been force-fed through a large gear-train. His left arm hung at a crazy angle and one side of his face was mashed in, but even as they watched it was rearranging itself into its normal outlines. A little more of the wall crumbled and Morph – at least Violet assumed the thing was Morph – followed him out. The shape-shifter looked like a big motile rock. He flung out four pseudopod-like extensions and began bashing The Demon with them in rapid succession, driving him into the hard ground. Both Violet and Reckoning cringed at the violence of the assault.

Leonid popped into being on the north side of the dacha and spotted the battle instantly. He knelt at the corner and watched.

After half a minute of pounding, The Demon wasn't moving. Morph stopped and reverted to his human form, then walked up to the fallen crime lord.

Ivan strained forward in his seat and shouted, "No!" He opened the door and stuck his head out. "Stay back! Get away!"

Morph looked up at him in confusion, and so missed the fact that Lord Tar's eyes had opened. A massive fist shot out, catching him in the chest, and Morph didn't even touch the ground until he slammed into the side of the dacha. The Demon gave a low, evil laugh and stood.

Violet screamed and flung out an arm. A two-dimensional disk flashed into being three meters in front of the crime lord and darted toward him. She was offering no quarter with this tactic, and wished ardently to kill him. The field would slice through granite as easily as warm butter. No normal material substance could resist its force for long. But The Demon didn't try to avoid it, reaching for it instead, and when it contacted his skin it didn't bite, didn't slide through him, didn't bisect him where he stood. It stopped.

The disk wavered, and she pushed. Lord Tar pushed back, his hands glowing a deep red. The disk suddenly fluoresced and with a keening whine that was almost out of hearing it faded away, leaving a raw, pounding ache between her ears. Eyes growing very round, she surrounded the cyborg in a force sphere, which she immediately began compressing as hard as she could. If she couldn't cut him, maybe she could crush or suffocate him. He grunted in surprise and looked around, spotting the two in the transport. His eyes widened in recognition when he saw Ivan, and a ferocious smile grew on his face. Instantly, all his suspicions, all the possibilities associated with the things he had learned about his chief assassin came together in confirmation. Here he was, blatantly aiding the force attacking him! He concentrated hard, completing the last bit of repair on his damaged eye, and then activated his disintegrator again. The force field flared into actinic shards, faded through the spectrum to black, and winked out.

The girl suffered an immediate and intense spasm that slammed her into the headrest. With a moan of pain, her eyes rolled back, she slumped over in the seat, and her other fields dissipated. Bob began leaking blood onto the floor of the vehicle.

The Demon picked himself back up and started running their way. Ivan, his heart in his throat, jerked the wheel around and floored the gas pedal, spinning large amounts of dust and gravel into the air as they tore away at ninety klicks and climbing fast.

Lord Tar could put on quite a show of speed himself, and followed them for a bit, but finally gave up when he saw he wouldn't be able to overtake them. He shook a fist at the fleeing transport. "You can run, my dear Ivan, but you cannot hide. I will find you! And I will kill you!" He turned back and looked at the house with narrowed eyes. "But first I will take care of the rest of the invaders."

However, as he stalked back to the dacha, he noticed that the meddlesome shape-shifter was no longer slumped on the ground by the wall. Crouching slightly, he prepared himself for attack as he rushed back to the hole in the side of the building.


	30. Chapter 30 Failure

Chapter Thirty

Leo teleported into the dacha near the hole in the wall. Morph was close, lying in a heap beside the wall, and Leo quickly snaked him inside out of view. Once he determined that the shape-changer still lived, he gathered him close, hit the coordinates for the CCK's forward recon post and vanished. He reappeared only a few seconds later, in time to see The Demon chasing after the transport his brother was driving. Leo ran, low and quick, back into the house, looking for the other supers.

The path of destruction was easy enough to follow. Morph and Lord Tar had trashed the place pretty thoroughly in their fight. There were so many gaping holes into other floors, and piles of rubble and splintered wood scattered about, that it was not easy to decide what some of it had looked like. A few rooms in, Leonid paused and let his new senses roam through the house. He picked out the few remaining servants, terrified and hiding, and then a group of others. He headed that way at a run, puffing badly, his legs burning from all the unusual exertion.

There were two of them, a huge man and a petite woman, in a hallway that led into the center of the house. They were unconscious, but did not appear damaged. He knelt beside the girl, placed a hand on her forehead, and let his psyche merge with hers.

Julia's eyes fluttered open. She sat up and looked around, puzzled. "What happened?"

"There was a fight. Lord Tar put you to sleep with one of his medium-range defense modes. You are the one called Vibe?"

She nodded. "Oo 're you?"

"My name is Leonid. I've already taken one of your number, the shapeshifter, back to the CCK recon post. I need to wake your other companion now, and then I must get you out of here."

"Wait!" She clutched his arm, suddenly a little dizzy. "Wot I mean is, oo _are_ you? Are you with th' CCK?"

"No. At this time I am operating independently. And I think I would like to keep it that way." He stood and helped her to her feet. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll bring your companion around. We have much work to do, and very little time to get it done."

Julia looked around, up and down the hall, and trotted over to a nearby door, scuffing her boot through a small, conical pile of fine ashy dust on the floor. But whatever she was looking for wasn't there. By the time she got back to where this 'Leonid' was squatting beside Smithy, that super was sitting up, just as she had.

He glanced around and rumbled, "Wharrr Swifter?"

Frowning, Leo looked at him and then at Julia and then stood. "I beg your pardon?"

She said, "The othah girl. There was anothah girl with us."

The shorter man shook his head. "You two are the only ones here who are not servants of that mad being outside." He tilted his head and closed his eyes, and very shortly gave a surprised grunt. "He moves quickly. Come. We must be close." He got them to stand right beside him and activated the teleporter.

Less than fifteen seconds after they vanished, the cyborg crept silently into the hallway. He gazed around intently for a moment, and then came over to stand in the center of the passage. The two he had stunned were not lying where he knew for a _fact_ they had been. This was of a type with that other one disappearing. There must be someone else around, a hidden one who had held back, watching and waiting. He was sure he'd heard voices, and he meant to find them, and deal with them, permanently, as he had dealt with that speedster girl. Then there would be no more of this waking up and skulking off.

##

Leonid, Vibe, and Smithy flickered into being just east of the CCK reconnaissance post. The girl spotted her fiancé about the same time he caught sight of her, and he zipped over to them.

"Sweetheart! Where have you been?"

"We went ta that … that _thing's_ 'eadquarters."

"_What?_ Just you three?" He looked at Leo and frowned. "Wait a sec. Who are you?"

Julia stuck a thumb at the shorter man. "'e's Leo. Saved our skins, 'e did."

Dash's eyebrows rose. "Oh, really? Well, then, _thank_ you!" And he pumped Leonid's hand.

"You are welcome." He cocked his head to the side just a bit and squinted for a couple of seconds. "The battle is over."

"Yeah, pretty much. We've got some …"

Julia put a hand on Dash's arm. "Just 'ang on a tick. 'ave ya seen Swifter?"

"Uh … no. She went missing about the same time you did."

"Yeah. She 'uz with us. But she disappeared durin' th' fight.

Dash took a quick look around and turned back to Leonid. "Where is D- … that is, where is Mr. Incredible? Was he with you?"

Julia answered for him, "Yeah, 'e was. 'im an' Morph were fightin' that monster." She looked at Leonid. "Ya said ya got Morph back ta safety. Did ya get Mr. Incredible, too?"

"No. He was injured while fighting that creature. Shield and my … um, the one who goes by Reckoning took him away from the dacha." He gazed intently into Dash's eyes. "Both Shield and Mr. Incredible were unconscious."

Piotr had trotted up during his explanation. "What? _How?_"

"Mr. Incredible was injured fighting that creature. Then Shield tried to surround Achmedjan with a force field, but he disintegrated it. The shock knocked her out."

Dash asked, "But they did get away?"

"Yes."

"And they were both alive?"

"Yes."

"You keep callin' 'im a creature," said Julia. "Ain't 'e a man?"

"No. Not exactly. He is a cyborg."

There were several exclamations of surprise and disbelief. Leo held up his hands for quiet. "Please, let me explain."

"Why don't you explain first who you are," demanded Piotr.

"I will do so, but not right now. There is no time. The one you know as Taruz Achmedjan does not belong here. He is an anomaly, and _must_ be removed. At this moment the creature is as vulnerable as he has been since I became aware of him, and this may be my best chance to deactivate him." He pulled a small device from a pocket. "This weapon should cause his systems to go into stasis mode, so that he may be safely destroyed. I must return and get close enough to him to use it."

"Wait! I can't let you go back there until we …" But Piotr was talking to empty air. He whirled around a couple of times and focused on Vibe. "He's a teleporter!"

"Yep."

"What's his range?"

"I dunno. 'ow far is it ta that dacha thingy?"

"Several kilometers. How many jumps did he make to get back here?"

"Just one, far as I could tell."

Piotr cursed vehemently. "A teleporter! And long-range! He's not even _registered!_ How did we miss him?"

##

When Leo popped in at the dacha, everything was eerily quiet. He hunkered down behind a corner of a retaining wall and sent inquisitive tendrils of thought into the building. _That lunatic may be able to tell if I am looking for him; or it may have been a function of his regeneration device._ Either way, Leo wanted to be very careful. He had no illusions about his own mortality.

It wasn't long before he picked up on the chaotic morass of poison and hatred that passed for Lord Tar's mindscape. He stayed _out_ of that twisted psyche, dancing tentatively around the edges, getting little more than direction and distance. _He is close._ Leonid moved out and found a door. He would need to fire from concealment.

Much of the dacha's interior was in shambles. Walls and furniture were either smashed or gone, but the chaos afforded him some cover. _He is coming this way. He suspects something._ One sweating fist gripping his teleport device and the other his weapon, Leonid hid himself behind a low planter of dressed granite and waited.

##

Achmedjan had access to a number of senses denied the humans around him. It did not amount to ESP, but it helped. He switched back and forth between the standard spectrum and infrared every few seconds. His audio sensors edited out all the normal background noises, amplifying anything not previously catalogued as belonging in the house. If only something could be done about the accursed dust! It began seeping into the massive house with the first encounter he'd had with the CCK's supers. It made him itch in his inward parts just to think of all that dust blowing through … settling in his house … piling in the corners … seeking him out and covering him, burying him, filling his eyes, his ears, his mouth …

He expended a blast of disintegration on a tiny drift of the fine dust in the main hall. Then he stalked on past one of the smaller conservatories. The granite planter that served as a room divider had been knocked askew. There would be much work for his servants, once he had taken care of the invaders.

He teetered on a knife's edge of control, longing to crush and slay but having no target. There was a tingling at the edge of his awareness, as of being watched by hidden eyes, that nearly drove him to distraction. Someone was here … someone close by who needed killing. His hands clenched spasmodically in frustration.

As he turned to enter a room along the hall, a violent electronic disturbance shook him, his vision grayed out, and he found himself frozen to the spot. His internal systems, screaming in outrage, fought back, protecting some circuits, re-taking others. The mass of nano-scale equipment that filled most of his body instantly concentrated on the most hotly-contested areas, creating bypass systems and entirely new control conduits by the hundreds per second. The conflict, though silent, was ferocious. Slowly, as the moments passed, he regained the use of his limbs, then his sight, then certain secondary systems. He ascertained from whence this attack had come, turned that way, and …

It stopped. Vanished. In full control again, he made a prodigious leap into the conservatory. He stared around intently for a few seconds, straining to pick up some vestige of a clue as to who had assaulted him. He raced twice around the room, looked out through the single window which, like all the others in his house, could not be opened, and finally stopped in the center of the open space, frustrated beyond his endurance.

_What was that weapon? It very nearly shut me down_. This was as close as he had come to worrying that his existence might be in danger in many, many years. He walked over to the east window, rested his hands on the sill, and gazed out at the desert. _If they can come in here, into my house, and try to hurt me … if they can come and go without my knowledge or leave … then I cannot stay here._ He reflected bitterly that he very likely would not get the chance to kill any of the supers personally. His highly efficient monitoring system had told him earlier that his mercenaries had not been worth what he had paid for them, advanced weaponry or no. It would only be a matter of time before the full weight of the Soviet military was brought to bear on his domicile. The heavy particle weapons would hold off an air attack and keep tanks at a distance for a time, but not indefinitely. And they weren't much good against a scattered force of infantry under the best of circumstances. It would be like trying to kill gnats with a maul.

He went to the hidden elevator at the back of the huge house, dropped down to his secret rooms, and acquired several items he would need for his journey. Then, after setting up a few special surprises for any subsequent guests, he left the dacha, heading south, ruminating darkly on what he would do to Ivan Bolodnikov once he found him.

##

Kreshcheyev was talking with a few of his aides in the mobile headquarters that he had set up after the first battle, when the door opened and Leo walked in. He pulled it shut behind him and came over to the table, his face a glum mask. "It didn't work."

The coordinator turned from the report he was going over with one of his underlings and stood up. "What?"

"My weapon. It did attack his system, but he was able to fight it off. I will need to come up with something else."

"So … in addition to your other talents you also invent weapons?"

Leo returned the calculating look the other man gave him. "When circumstances demand it, I have been known to do a variety of things."

"I see." He held out a hand, indicating a chair. "Please have a seat and tell me more."

"I will be pleased to do that, Gospodin, after I have eliminated the threat posed by that cyborg."

"After _**you**_ eliminate it? Is this a personal crusade of some kind?"

"No. I am the only one who can."

"It doesn't sound as if you have much confidence in our military, or in the other supers."

Leo put both hands in the pockets of his jacket, casually palming the teleport device. "I hate to state the obvious, but some of your best supers have _already_ tried to kill him. Three were injured, two were rendered unconscious, one is missing … and the creature is essentially unharmed. All but one of the heroes would have been killed if I had not intervened. If you send your soldiers against him, you will only be sending them to their deaths. You must believe me when I say that his level of technology is well beyond anything you've got."

"But why do you think that _you_ are the only one who can defeat him? What edge do you have that we don't?"

"It would take too long to explain, and time is a luxury I don't have right now." He took a step back from the table.

"Wait! If you could just tell me …" But the other man had vanished. Kreshcheyev cursed and smacked the table.

##

Julia checked her watch. _Eight minutes. He can cover a lot of ground in eight minutes. _She opened a channel. "Dash, you got anything yet?"

The speedster tapped his communicator. "No. Nothing. Does your question mean that Firefox hasn't found them either?"

"No."

He stopped at the lake's edge, some thirty klicks west of the dacha. "Is the cleanup crew still looking through that maniac's headquarters?"

"Yeh, but they're bein' real slow an' careful-like after that first trap blew. They dug out a lotta scared servants, evah one of 'em glad as can be th' monster's gone."

"But no Swifter?"

"No Swifter. An' 'er suit's transceivah don't ping."

"What about Vi – um – Shield's beacon?"

"We're gettin' a bit o' response, but that flamin' interference is still there, so we got no clue which way or how far."

Several creative curses ran through Dash's mind at this news. He had tried, every way he knew how, to follow any trails that might have been left by those departing the dacha. But the constant wind, never resting with its burden of powdery sand, had obliterated all tracks almost as soon as they were made. He stared off to the north, then blinked fiercely and rubbed his eyes. His suit included a pair of slim goggles with lenses of industrial sapphire, but even that obdurate material had gotten scratched into opacity by the blowing grit. He was, perforce, limited to a top speed of about three hundred klicks so that the abrasive stuff wouldn't tear the skin off his face.

Firefox had every remote at his command out on patrol, but he hadn't any better luck. Two other supers had died in the battle, but neither Team Incredible nor Vibe had known them. While their deaths were sad, they were not personal, whereas Swifter was a teammate. None of them liked to dwell on what had probably happened to her.

Violet's situation was a deeper concern to Dash. He had a fierce, protective love for his sister. They'd saved each other's lives too often to count, and although they frequently engaged in verbal fisticuffs, woe betide anyone else who tried to hurt one of them. Knowing that her suit, at least, was still functional helped, but the situation was a real strain.

Dash sighed and tapped in again. "I'm gonna do a pass to the northwest and then head across the lake."

"Roger. I'll call you if we hear anything.


	31. Chapter 31 Disclosure

Chapter Thirty-One

Myron Spandiczky was a "lifer", a career officer with the diplomatic corps and Ambassador Curtis' right-hand man. As such, he felt a strong sense of responsibility for the staff. So it was that the burden of handling the current mess with the Soviets fell mainly on his shoulders. He had nominated himself the official spokesperson for the group, fielding what few questions had come their way thus far. But although he put up a brave front, he was really just as mystified as any of them as to why they'd been abducted.

He walked up behind the redhead crouched by the entrance door to the first room of their late accommodations, and said, "Miss Jones, what are you doing?"

Helen Parr stood and turned to face him. "Just looking at the hinges. The door opens inward."

"Yes, I can see that. I can also see that they are the totally-enclosed tamper-proof type. What's your point?"

"They're tamper-resistant. Nothing is tamper-proof."

Myron raised one eyebrow. "What of it? If we did succeed in escaping from this room, we'd still be inside the prison complex, surrounded by armed guards. And if by some miracle we got out of the prison, we'd still be in the middle of the Soviet, hundreds of kilometers from any border. We don't really have any options if they choose not to honor our diplomatic status, and I think they've made it abundantly clear that they don't."

"I'm just trying to keep _my_ options open."

He frowned at that remark. This young lady (_His impression of her was as a 'young' person. Although he had noticed that her hair was starting to turn gray, he figured it was doing so prematurely since he could see nothing else to indicate that she could be past her twenties._) who had come here with Piotr Kreshcheyev had been part of a teleconference with no lesser light than the Secretary of Defense. Then, when the CCK man took himself off somewhere else, she stayed behind, meeting almost constantly with Adam.

"And what would you do if you found yourself free? You don't speak Russian. You've already admitted that you'd never been to Moscow prior to two days ago. How long do you think it would be before they found you? And what do you think would happen to us?"

She nodded. "Those are excellent questions. And now I have one for you: would you rather try escaping, or just wait around for the interrogators to start with the highly unpleasant persuasion techniques?"

"What makes you think they'd do that?"

"What makes _you_ think they wouldn't?"

Since that precise scenario had been percolating in the back of his mind all day, he didn't have a ready comeback. He shrugged and said, "Fine. I'll concede your point. But it's still an exercise in futility."

"Maybe. But it'll be good exercise." And she knelt again at the door.

##

"I don't see anything."

Leo hunched his shoulders as the sandcrawler topped another dune and _flumphed_ down onto the sand. "He is here."

"How do you know?" Dash asked.

"I know. He is that way."

Dash turned the wheel marginally. Mountains could still be seen to the south, but the undulating, brown landscape stretched off to the horizon in the other three directions.

"He is close."

"Okay." The odd craft slowed at Dash's deft touch. "Still go straight?"

"Yes."

Fifteen seconds passed in silence, and then Leo said, "Stop!"

They rocked to a halt on the four pairs of soft, oversized tires, and both men jumped to the ground. Dash asked, "Where?"

Leo slogged through the sand over to the lee of a small dune and dropped to his knees. "Here."

Mr. Incredible's head and one arm had yet to be covered, but they were thoroughly coated with the light-brown dust. He was all but invisible from four meters away.

Dash pulled his father from the sand and ran carefully back to the crawler. He laid the inert form on the cot Leo had put in the back, and began brushing the dirt off.

"Be careful of his side."

Dash glanced up at the shorter man. "What? Which one?"

"His right side. That's where he was wounded."

Dash gave him an incredulous look, but carefully examined the area in question, drawing a hiss of breath when he saw the extent of the damage. "What did this?"

"Achmedjan struck him and scratched poison into his skin. Iv … um, Reckoning cut away the injured section to save his life."

The fine dust had mixed with Bob's blood to form a crusty paste that covered the wound rather thickly. Leo pointed out that they should probably leave it in place, as it seemed to be acting to stop the bleeding.

"Fine. Just watch him. I'll get us back to base."

"All right." While Dash got the crawler turned around and up to speed, Leo made the unconscious super fast to the cot. Mr. Incredible never moved or opened his eyes.

##

Piotr sat across the broad table from Leonid, incredulity plain on his face. "Would you please repeat that?"

"His name is not Erkki Leinonen. It is Ivan Bolodnikov. He is my brother."

Scanner, leaning against the wall in the corner, muttered something under his breath. Dash, standing next to him, nodded in agreement, his jaw rock-hard.

"And you are trading this information for … some advanced hardware components? Why?"

"Time pressure. I could manufacture them myself eventually, but it will be much faster if I can have certain parts of the device off the shelf, and speed is of the essence."

"And this device of yours is necessary because …?"

"Because Taruz Achmedjan is still very much a threat. All that you accomplished in destroying that compound was to tweak his nose and make him mad. He has many such bases of operation. His personnel and financial resources are vast, spanning at least three continents. His hatred is deep and his madness grows by the day."

"And you think you can beat him?"

"I can, if I have the right tools. I already have a well-equipped laboratory, but the items on that list will allow me to get my device assembled in days instead of months." He leaned over the table toward Piotr. "We do not _have_ months, Gospodin. We do not have _weeks_."

"And why is it that no one else could make this weapon?"

"No one else knows what it needs to do. I could try to teach someone, but it would take too long."

"And how do _you_ know what it needs to do?"

"Again, I fear an explanation would require more time than we have. There are many aspects of the process that astound me still, and I am in the middle of it."

Piotr drummed his fingers on the table while considering what to do with this intense young man. At length he picked up the piece of paper in front of him and handed it to a flunky. "Get these items as quickly as you can. Put Vlad and Gregor on it."

"Yes, Gospodin." And the man left.

Piotr turned back to Leo and interlaced his fingers on the table. "And now you will tell me all about this 'Reckoning' character?"

"Yes. Much as it saddens me, he must be stopped."

"Indeed." He turned in his chair and rested his chin on a fist. "So, you are a teleporter; and your brother is a super as well."

"What? No! I am … oh, wait. I understand."

"What do you mean 'No'?"

"Gospodin, there is much more to this story than you suspect. There is much more to my brother than you can imagine."

"I like long stories. Pray do continue."

"It need not be long, but it will be involved. Ivan is my older brother, and he raised me after our parents died. They were CCK agents, and were killed in the line of duty."

Piotr snapped his fingers. "_That's_ where I've heard the name 'Bolodnikov' before! Golem and Oracle!"

"Yes. My father and mother."

"But I don't remember there being a record of a second son in our files."

"Yes. Our parents were not happy working for the CCK. They wanted to hide us, so that we wouldn't be forced into service. Ivan was still very young when they were conscripted, and they did not grow truly bitter until later. But they did manage to prove that he didn't have any powers."

"But he does."

"Yes, he does now. I do not know when they first manifested. It may have been that he had none at the time. Even if he did, my mother was particularly good at getting people to believe what she wanted them to believe."

"… That is so. Go on."

"Ivan joined an organized crime syndicate, and kept me in hiding. He also kept me ignorant of his true nature until fairly recently."

"His true nature?"

"My brother, I am sad to say, is not a nice person."

"So I had gathered. How 'not nice' is he?"

"He was an assassin." Leo sighed, "_Is_ an assassin, and a very accomplished one. His super ability with firearms is very real, and he discovered it while still in his teens. But that is not his primary ability."

"Primary? He has multiple powers?"

"Yes. He is supernaturally gifted in information retrieval. He can extract any amount of data that he wants, from any storage system he can access."

"That doesn't even _sound_ like a power."

"Trust me, it is very real."

"So he's a computer whiz?"

"No. That is not it _at all_. I seriously doubt that he knows very much about how computers work, or what the differences are between the primary programming languages. His gift is in getting at the bits of information inside. Passwords just occur to him. He will know instinctively how to disable any firewall. And as far as encryptions are concerned, you might as well save yourself the trouble. Nor does his ability apply only to computers. The same goes for hand-printed codes. He can read them as easily as a newspaper."

"Bizarre."

"It is unusual, yes, and difficult to detect or measure. That does not make it any less useful. Knowledge is power, you know."

"I'll concede that. Anything else?"

"Yes. He can drain the abilities from other supers."

Piotr stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. "Drain? But what does that … You mean …?" His head spun. The memory of his report to the oligarchs flashed through his mind.

… _a device that damps or negates super powers…_

… _the killer is male, and in excellent physical condition …_

… _a working knowledge of computer source code …_

The pieces clicked like a magnetic puzzle. "_**Him?**_ He's the one …"

"Yes, Gospodin Kreshcheyev. He is the one you have been hunting. He is the one who killed your supers."

Piotr stalked around the table and came up to loom over Leo. "How long have you known this?"

"About … well … bits and pieces of the picture came together over time, but I would say maybe … five or six weeks."

"And you kept this to _yourself?_ What sort of man does _that?"_

"The sort who knew not what to do!" Leo's expression took on a lost and bitter cast. "The sort who was still working through the revelation that his brother was not the kind, brave soul he had perceived him to be all his life. The sort who suspected that there was a better-than-even chance that his brother would kill him if he found out. _That_ sort."

"Why didn't you just teleport away? Surely you knew you could have reported him safely?"

"Because until three days ago I could not teleport. Not with any accuracy."

"What? Three? You … but … that's a very late-blooming power."

"It probably would be, if it _were_ my power. But it is not. I am not a teleporter. I am an inventor. I invented a way to allow myself to teleport."

Piotr's jaw dropped. "You've … _invented_ … a viable means of personal teleportation?"

"Yes."

"But our scientists have proven that it would have to be done with stationary transmitter and receiver gates!"

"Mobility was the second major obstacle I had to overcome."

"But how …" He put one hand against his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Calculating the change in relative intrinsic velocities quickly enough to make it useful is too difficult!"

"It was tricky, I will agree. But not insurmountable."

"How did you _do_ it? Just the _computing_ power needed for that kind of math requires a supercomputer that doesn't even _exist_ yet!"

"Correct. That was the _first_ obstacle. I had to invent the computer before I could use the device."

Piotr sat down heavily in the chair beside Leo, staring at the smaller man. "You invented a supercomputer?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

"It is part of the device."

"Part of …" He worked his jaw a few times and swallowed. "And now you have a mobile unit small enough to _carry?"_

"Yes."

"_How?"_

"How I did it is not important at this point. That is the only trump card I hold in this contest with Achmedjan. I can teleport. He cannot. At least not any more. He may have been able to at one time. He is very, very old. I know for a fact that his systems have not had any advanced maintenance in over forty years, and he has been insane far longer than that. Who can know what he might have been capable of in his prime?"

"What do you mean by 'old'?"

"He has been alive, or what passes for alive in his case, for centuries. Five, maybe six hundred years. And he has been a cyborg for most of that time."

"That is _not possible!_ No technology like that existed even fifty years ago, much less three or four hundred! It's absurd!"

"No. You do not understand. Technology like that does not exist _now_. He is not from _this_ time. He does not belong here."

Piotr sat, eyes locked with Leo's, for several moments while absorbing that information. "Not … from this _time?"_

"No. He will not be born for another few hundred years."

"Uh. So … now you're telling me that, besides personal teleportation, time travel is also possible?"

"Possible, yes. Desirable, no. His field was temporal research, before he went mad. The impression I got from the brief encounters I have had with Achmedjan is that his time traveling left a considerable amount of devastation in his wake. He seems to have known it would happen, but did not care."

"Define 'devastation' for me."

"Very well. Apparently, the act of moving through time to a determined past liberates a lot of energy. By breaching the continuum and coming here, to his past and our present, he obliterated over fifty thousand hectares in eastern Russia and caused a cataclysmic event on the order of a direct hit from a comet."

Piotr stood again and leaned against the table for a moment. Then he said, quietly, "Gospodin Bolodnikov."

Leo glanced up at him, caught by his tone. "Yes?"

"I'm … going to have someone bring us a recording device, if you don't mind."

"That will be fine."

##

The questioning went on for the next six hours, pausing only for a quick meal and a few restroom breaks. Leonid was willing, even eager, to give the government man as much information about the two antagonists as he wanted … quite possibly a bit _more_ than he wanted. Achmedjan frankly frightened Piotr silly. The more he heard, the more agitated he grew, as scenario after scenario occurred to him: so many ways for the world to end; so few things he could do about it.

And Reckoning! Or Ivan, or Erkki, or whatever he called himself. Piotr's teeth ground in frustration more than once as the extent of the super's treachery came into bitter focus. What he wouldn't do to have the man in his power! He began planning the first steps of an expedition to capture him … but Leo refused to be a part of it.

"Loyalty to your brother? It's a little late in the game for that, wouldn't you agree?"

"Loyalty has nothing to do with it, Gospodin. If you go after him, you will fail. Even after poking around in his head for the last few months, his ability to outguess his opponents still surprises me. Apart from Achmedjan, he is the most formidable adversary you've ever faced. However, unlike Achmedjan, he is not insane." Leo shook his head firmly. "No. I cannot allow you to throw away the lives of innocents. I will take care of him myself."

Dash had, with some difficulty, held his temper in check throughout the interrogation, but at this he felt he had to have his say. "Gospodin Bolodnikov, I understand that your brother is bad news. But you said yourself that he's no more invulnerable than a normal human. That's why he had you build him a super-suit."

"Yes, that is true. But …"

"No buts. I'm here to tell you that getting punched by a reinforced gauntlet that's moving at eight hundred meters per second is going to ring his bell like it's never been rung before, I don't care _what_ kind of suit he's wearing."

"That is … true. If you could hit him first."

"How can he duck what he can't see coming?"

"He does not have to see what he is firing at to hit it. He just hits it. Believe me, he will have a way, some way, to protect himself."

Dash snorted at that. "I'm not convinced."

"Look, I know you are worried about your sister …"

"Damn straight!"

"… but he does not intend harm to her."

"He doesn't? Then why did he take her? Why jettison my … um, Mr. Incredible, but keep her with him?"

"He wishes to convince her to mate with him."

Dash practically ricocheted off the ceiling. It took Leo several minutes to calm him down. It was during that episode that two men came into the room. Kreshcheyev saw them at once and motioned to them to come over.

"You have the items?"

"We found them, yes." The taller one placed a large box on the table.

"Gospodin Bolodnikov, would you please make sure that all the items you wanted are here?"

Leonid left Dash brooding in his chair and went to the table, pulling the box to himself eagerly. He quickly sorted through the contents, nodding a few times and muttering constantly. Finally he said, "You located everything. Thank you, Gospodin Kreshcheyev."

"You are quite welcome. Now if you could …" He was speaking to empty air.


	32. Chapter 32 Escape

Chapter Thirty-Two

Absolute blackness filled the hall. Soft snoring could be heard from the rooms at either end, which was understandable given the wee hour. They had electricity only from late morning to dusk, and their captors had confiscated every portable light source, so Myron had been forced to feel his way along the wall to the small air duct. He sat here, as he had the past two nights, waiting for news from the only glimmer of hope he'd been given since their arrival.

There was a faint creaking as he heard the cover of the vent being levered out of the way, then he felt the slight shifting of air when Elastigirl oozed out of the duct and popped back into shape at his side.

He whispered, "How'd it go?"

"Looks good. I took out the two guard posts and the man at our door, and the higher-ups around here don't seem to think there's any need for surveillance equipment. The way's clear."

"Wonderful! I passed the word about twenty-three hundred. You really think we can get them all out?"

"Wouldn't try it if I didn't think so. You go wake up the guys." And she eased off down the hall toward the women's chamber.

Myron quickly got everyone assembled in the front room. He had eleven on staff, most of them relatively young, and all of them sharp and capable. He didn't worry that they would trip up or panic, and he made that clear as he outlined their escape plan.

The only real hitches would come as they approached the train yard. Helen had copped some of the route sheets and Myron could translate, so she knew all the schedules, knew which train they wanted and knew where it was going. But she was going to have to do a pick-and-place routine with the staff members at three different fences. She figured she could move two of them at a time, and they wouldn't really be exposed for _that_ long, but any exposure made her nervous. She wished she could just cut holes in the fences, but they were electrified and any interruption in the current flow would surely be noticed.

Once they were all ready she quickly removed the pins from the hinges on the main door and edged it open. They moved the unconscious and thoroughly trussed-up guard into one of the back rooms. Helen reattached the door and set it up to look like it had been forcibly opened from the outside. Then the erstwhile prisoners filed silently away after her.

The only hint of trouble came as they were crossing the first fence. One of the railroad maintenance crews was working on a boxcar in a large welding shed some hundred meters or more away, and two of the workers had wandered outside for a smoke. No one saw them until they practically stumbled into each other. One of the workers yanked a large wrench from a pocket and shouted something in Russian. Helen coldcocked both of them.

Myron surveyed the still forms and said, "What do we do with them?"

"We'll have to take them with us. This whole plan hinges on misdirection, so they can't be left where anyone can find them."

Myron's mouth twisted in displeasure. "_Somebody_ will miss these guys, no matter where they are. Managers and senior staff can go off for days and nobody thinks a thing about it, but maintenance staff is critical." He gave a rueful chuckle. "Secretaries or janitors don't show, and the whole shootin' match comes unglued."

"I understand that. But keeping them with us will make sure they can't pass _any_ information. Also, it'll add another facet of uncertainty in our escape. Did they know about it? Did they help us? Were they simply casualties? Believe me, any small additional advantage we can get, we should take."

Some of the staff grumbled about the extra work, but they all saw the wisdom in that tactic. Helen grabbed the unconscious men and stretched over the fence, depositing them in the ditch she'd previously discovered. Then she did the same for the rest of them.

Once in the yard proper, they ran along until they came to one of the longest trains there. Five massive locomotives powered the string of nearly two hundred coal cars, on its way southeast to a power plant. Helen picked a car somewhere along the middle and got everyone inside.

One of the women commented with distaste about how dirty they were going to get. Helen responded, "That's the idea, Jill. We need to be black enough to be mistaken for coal. So everyone get busy." And they spent the next twenty minutes rubbing themselves with the dusty ore.

Each person scooped out a place in the coal pile, and Helen went around making sure they were all loosely covered, with just their faces exposed. The train was scheduled to leave at four-thirty, and she wanted everyone to be hidden before that. They'd likely be passing under bridges here and there, and the last thing they needed was for some bystander to catch sight of the stowaways. When she was satisfied that the pile of coal in this car closely resembled the piles in its neighbors, she got herself hidden. Then they waited.

Eventually they felt the long train begin to move.

##

Dash split his time between checking in on his father and searching for Violet. A man of action, he found this situation intolerable. He got several pairs of replacement goggles from the CCK, and expended a great deal of energy racing all over the countryside trying to find his sister. But although he could search an area quickly and effectively, the Union of Soviet States was _awfully_ big, and he was just one man. Kreshcheyev tried to convince him to work with them, but he refused, stating stubbornly that the CCK could just go hang. He partially blamed them, unfair though that might be, for Reckoning's being able to get that close to her.

After three days of this activity, as he sat staring at his father's inert form one evening, Leonid appeared in the room. Dash sat up immediately, demanding, "What have you found? Do you know …?"

"I believe I know where she is."

Dash smacked a fist into his palm. "Let's go get her!"

"Come with me."

Leonid had never felt entirely comfortable in close proximity to men who were much larger than he was, and Dash had nearly twice his mass. He figured he knew enough about the speedy super to trust him, though.

Dash had teleported with Jack-Jack a few times, so he thought he knew what to expect, but this experience was fundamentally different. When his younger brother teleported, it was almost like stepping from one room to another, only one's legs didn't move. It felt natural, with no confusion or vertigo. This time, the hospital room vanished, and there was a brief instant of extreme disorientation before he bumped down a few millimeters onto the floor of a large laboratory. He battled his gorge for a moment, leaning against a nearby bench. Leo watched him closely, nodding in satisfaction when the bigger man finally shook his head and straightened up. "Very good. Some people do not do so well the first time."

"_That_ is a pretty rough ride." He took several deep breaths.

"You get used to it."

Dash looked around. "Is this where he's keeping her?"

"Oh, no. This is my lab. Your sister is nearly three thousand kilometers from here."

Dash turned and gave the smaller man an incredulous look. "Excuse me?"

"We cannot go get her yet. I am not ready."

"_Ready?_ Are you serious? What's to be ready for? We teleport in, I bash his head for him real good, we collect Violet, and head home."

"Ah … no. Not to put too fine a point on it, but that will not work. My brother's ability to drain other supers' powers is instantaneous. If he wills it, it happens. Nor does he have to see his target. It will affect any super within about twenty meters."

Dash regarded him silently for several seconds and then asked, "Okay, so if we can't go after him yet, why am I here?"

"I need your assistance."

"Huh. Well, I'll be happy to help, if it'll get Vi back. What do you need?"

"I need various tasks performed. I will outline the scope of each one, then we will teleport to the site and you will acquire those things I need."

"And you can't just do it yourself because …?"

"Oh, I could. I would be forced to, if you had not come into the picture. With your aid, these tasks will take minutes or seconds instead of hours. It reduces the likelihood of our being detected and detained to a number closely approximating zero."

Dash mulled that over for a few seconds. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. I've been in on stuff like that before." He gave Leo a curious look and said, "You don't strike me as the grand larceny sort."

"Under more favorable circumstances I am not. It pains me greatly to have to take these things without asking first, but going through the legal channels would take too long."

"And it's easier to get forgiveness than permission, right?"

"That is a droll way of putting it, but yes. Though I do not intend to ask forgiveness. When I am finished with the systems, I will return them."

Dash nodded. "Cool. Works for me. I'll just let the folks … um, I mean I'll let Mom know where I am and …"

"No! You must not involve anyone else."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Other supers would die on this mission. You alone are fast enough to perform the final attack on Achmedjan, to avoid his eye of death."

"Achmedjan? Whoa, wait a minute!" Dash was mightily confused. How'd he get into the picture? Aren't we going after Vi first?"

"I cannot explain it to you in a way that would make sense, but by solving the problem of Achmedjan, we will solve the problem of your sister."

"That sounds … a little far-fetched."

"I realize this. But you must trust me."

The big man considered him for several long moments and then shrugged. "If you say so. You _did_ know where to find Dad."

"Thank you."

"But … I can't tell _anybody?_ Not even Vibe?"

"Aigh! No! _Especially_ not Miss Morran! She would follow you, she would distract you, and you would both die!"

Dash deflated a little at that bit of news. "How long will this take?"

"Probably not that long. A few days, unless I run into a problem with my device."

"Well, let's get cracking, then! The sooner we're done, the sooner we get Vi back, right?"

"That is correct."

"So what's the move?"

"Come over here. I have blueprints of the layout at this manufacturing facility …"


	33. Chapter 33 Questions

Chapter Thirty-Three

The chamber, though large, felt very close because of the limited lighting. The elaborate desk where the oligarchs sat was situated in the middle of the long room, and the only illumination came from the tiny, shrouded lamps sitting at the elbow of each ruler, spilling a wan glow onto the tabletop. Nevertheless, the bare walls and high ceiling produced echoes that would hint to any visitor that there was much more here than met the eye.

The current visitor, who happened to be the head of the secret police, sat small and still in the single chair that stood before the long septet of powerful men. He did his best not to sweat as he stated, "Yes, Excellency, that is correct. We found nothing. There was no record anywhere in the Embassy to indicate that they knew of an impending attack."

At the far left end of the desk sat an ancient man with a shock of bright white hair. He leaned forward marginally and said, "They have done a masterful job of covering their tracks."

"Perhaps," observed the man in the center of the group, "there are no tracks to cover."

The white-haired man thumped his cane on the floor. "They are planning mischief and you know it! Why else the massive build-up along the Pacific and Arctic rims?"

"The rumors in their news sources say that the President was attacked. It is only reasonable to assume they would strengthen their guard."

"Hearsay! It is obviously a smokescreen. How have they not announced such an attack, if in truth it took place?"

"Would we, in a similar circumstance?"

"You need to remove your blinders, Anatoly!"

"Jurg, there is a difference between prudence and paranoia. You should look into it some time." He turned his attention back to the man in the chair. "Major Pavlov, in the interest of quelling my colleague's discomfort, I want you to take your best men and your most sensitive equipment and return to the Embassy. Dismantle the place brick by brick if you have to. But if there is even a hint that they knew what was going on …"

The door at the far end of the room burst open and a uniformed woman of middle years hurried up to the desk, bowed low, and placed an envelope in front of the Premier.

With a tone of affront, he demanded, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Begging your gravest of pardons, Excellency, but General Miyyep ordered that I give you this." She bowed again and moved to the side with great deference.

Anatoly Turchin picked up the envelope and removed the paper it held. In seconds his face grew very dark. He glanced left and right at the men flanking him and said, "They have been freed."

"What?" asked the man immediately to his left. "Who has been freed?"

"The Embassy staff. Apparently a special team of some kind broke in last night and they escaped. The guards never saw what hit them."

With a vindicated gleam in his eye, Jurg responded, "Is that proof enough for you, Anatoly?"

The Premier gave his elder colleague a level look. "For the moment, yes." He turned his attention to the man in the chair. "Major, you have a new priority. Those people must be found. They must be kept silent. Obviously we should have interrogated them first. We shall not make that mistake a second time."

"At once, Excellency!" And he hurried from the room.

"It is a shame," remarked the man in the second seat from the right, "that the two mind-reading supers we had on staff were murdered."

"Indeed. That would have made our task quite simple. But I wouldn't worry too much. Our secret police are very effective … and so are the older methods for obtaining information."

##

At least for the time being, Piotr Kreshcheyev felt that he had done all he could do, and that he deserved a rest, however abbreviated it might turn out to be.

The military scientists were ensconced in the remains of the dacha, sifting through the debris for every scrap of Achmedjan's technology that they could find. The focus of their investigation, to begin with, was a strange metal table they had found in the cyborg's personal quarters. They were happily engaged in dismantling it, and wished only to be left alone to pursue their study, but General Saljanitsin stuck with them like a bad rash. If at all possible, he wanted the secret of that paired-beam weapon that had wreaked such havoc among his tanks. He'd been itching to move up in the echelons for some time now, and this little item might just be the ticket. Unfortunately, all of the ones used in the battle had been most emphatically and finally demolished.

The supers, all thoroughly sick of the carnage, had returned to CCK headquarters, and then most of them – the ones not still hospitalized – had gone back to their usual haunts.

Leonid Bolodnikov, odd little man that he was, had left Piotr feeling strangely comforted. He did not trust very many people, nor did he depend upon even those few unreservedly; but despite Leonid's sometimes alarming intensity, he had a disarmingly genuine manner that the CCK liaison had come to trust. He had said that he would 'take care' of both The Demon and his assassin brother, and, unaccountably, Piotr believed him.

So it was with a feeling almost approximating contentment that he settled into a plush leather chair this evening with a cup of heavily-creamed hot tea and a small plate of honey cakes. He'd lately found a small café in Groznyy that made some that were nearly as good as the ones his wife used to make …

He closed his eyes and gave his head a slight shake, quashing that line of thought as soon as it occurred to him. There was no use dwelling on such things when there was nothing he could do about it.

He was halfway through his second honey cake when the lights in the room went out. He started, sat forward, and placed his cup on the side table, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Before that could happen, though, something wrapped itself around his head and he was jerked bodily out of his chair and dragged across the room.

His struggles accomplished precisely zilch, but he fought the enveloping mass anyway. He fetched up sharply against a hard surface, and then the wrappings on his head fell away. It was pitch black. He stumbled and sat down rather sharply in a corner as several possibilities flashed across his mind. He would, of course, have collected any number of enemies in his position with the CCK, and they had by no means all been caught or killed.

_So which one finally got to me?_

Something brushed across his head. He twitched and slapped at it, realizing instantly that it was made of cloth, and realizing in the next instant that he was in his closet.

_Closet? What? Why?_

"Who's there?"

"Gospodin Kreshcheyev, I have two questions for you, and I'd better like the answers."

"Who …? … Elastigirl? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Keeping my skin intact. Now, first, why is my husband in the hospital, and what is wrong with him?"

"Uh … He was injured while fighting Achmedjan. He got poisoned, and he hasn't come out of his coma yet."

She absorbed that information for a few moments. "Very well. It seemed to me that he was being cared for."

"Yes. We have the best doctors working on him, but all they can tell us is that the poison will have to work its way out of his body. They used a chelating technique to isolate as much of the active toxin as they could get to. Now they're giving him a lot of corticosteroids and intravenous fluids to help speed that process along."

"Good. Second, I want to know why the North American Embassy was invaded and its staff imprisoned."

"_What?"_

"Did you not know anything about that?"

"No! I've been submerged in all the details around the attack on Achmedjan. But … how do you know the people at the Embassy were imprisoned?"

"Because I was with them."

"You … you mean to tell me they put _Elastigirl_ in prison?"

"They didn't know who I was, except that I'd been working closely with Adam for a few days. I _still_ don't know where _he_ is."

"Wait. Please. I am very confused. Would you start at the beginning and tell me everything?"

So she did. She also explained that since they were being hunted, she didn't want to chance anyone seeing her with him, which was why she'd struck the lights and hauled them into the closet.

Her information knocked the pins out from under him. "And you've got them stored somewhere safe?"

"For the time being. But they don't have a food source. I have to take it to them. I need to get them out of the country."

"Well … ah … well, I suppose we could use one of the CCK planes. We are subject to a great deal less scrutiny."

"So you will see to it that they are taken to safety?"

"… Yes. Yes, I can do that. I'll fly them to Brussels. The Belgian center for the North American Embassy is right beside the airport."

"Do I have your word on that?"

"Absolutely." He drew himself up with dignity, darkness notwithstanding. "My word means a _bit_ more than that of the average apparatchik."

"I thought as much. Where would you like to pick them up?"

They worked out a few details. Then Helen said, "I'll have them there by sun-up."

"Will you be leaving as well?"

"No. I have to find Adam. It's been two days since we escaped, and I doubt they've been gentle with him in the interim."

"Oh." He winced in sympathy. "I see your point."

"Then, once he's safe, I will be with my husband."

"Ah. Of course. I understand perfectly."

And she was gone.


	34. Chapter 34 Preparations

Chapter Thirty-Four

Far to the south and west, in a bunker that had been built with slave labor nearly thirty years ago, a thin man in rumpled livery scurried out of one side of a set of wide double doors. His lopsided nose and scarred knuckles spoke of numerous fights, but the watery eyes and deep lines in his face hinted that those fights lay well in the past. He closed the door behind him as quietly as he could and jog-walked away, heading to the elevator at the end of the hall. Three levels up and two corridors over, he fell into a chair at the end of a table in a long, low room.

Another man already occupied the room. He was busy trying to masticate the day's ration of dried goat and reconstituted potato. Between bites he would take a long swallow from the bottle of vodka by his plate. When the livery-clad man came in, he set the bottle down and stared.

"Yevni? You look like you've seen your own ghost."

"If only. The boss had me working with him." He rested his forehead on a fist and closed his eyes, willing his muscles to stop trembling. They weren't listening.

"Doing what?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Hm. I suppose not."

Yevni held his position for a few minutes until his heart slowed to an acceptable pace. He sighed, rose, and went to the refrigerator at the end of the room. After rummaging for a moment he cursed softly and asked, "Mikel, are you drinking the _last_ of the vodka?"

"It's the only one that was in the cooler. I think there's another in the cabinet."

"What do you do, bathe in the stuff?"

"No more than you. But this is the last _cold_ bottle."

"I don't care if it's cold, I just need some." He opened the cabinet and retrieved the bottle. Quickly he twisted off the cap and upended it. After three swallows he came back to the table.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Better."

Mikel cocked his head and turned a critical eye on his companion. "Your collar's turned under."

"Yeah."

"Umm …"

"_He_ fixed it that way."

"… The Master?"

"Yeah."

"He turned your collar under himself?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

Yevni sighed. "What part of his being a few planks short of a floor did you miss?"

"Eh. I should know better." He took another bite of potato, made a face, and chased it with more vodka. "So, what _did_ he have you doing?"

"I had to help him make a bomb."

"A bomb? What kind of bomb?"

"Atomic bomb, I think. Big sucker."

"You couldn't tell?"

"Do I look like a scientist? I just fetched things for him. But there was a really heavy canister with that radiation symbol thing on it."

"What does he want the bomb for?"

"How should I know? He kept muttering something about 'paying them back' and things like that. I don't know who 'them' might be, but I wouldn't want to _be_ 'them', that's certain."

"Hmph. Don't even much like being _me_ these days."

"Yeah. Know what you mean."

##

_It should not be too difficult. Just need a containment field of the right configuration. It would be a grid, really. Have the grid with the antimatter in interstitial contact with the sensitized zone. It won't last more than twenty seconds under the best conditions … call it sixteen for margin of error. Sixteen seconds for the ramp-up, at nine-hundredths of a percent transfer per second will give about one-point-four percent available for conversion …_

Lord Tar began inputting figures into his system. For the force he wanted as a result, the bomb in question would need to be fairly large, on the order of three or four hundred cubic meters. Of course most of that was the control system and firing mechanism and the shaped-field energy scoop that would channel the nuclear blast into the generator. The actual quantity of antimatter produced would fit into a standard military helmet with room to spare. But that would be plenty.

Although some of the math was giving him trouble, he was working to adapt the technology he'd used in the twin-beam guns to function as a bomb. That weapon had been fiendishly effective: the green beam would sensitize any crystalline solid it contacted so that the red beam could act on it. The freely-moving molecules of the air were unaffected, as were most polymers and organics. Steel, being a material with a grain structure, was not so fortunate. The red beam, when activated, would convert a small percentage of the atoms in the lattice to antimatter. The laws of physics took it from there.

If he was successful in building and detonating _this_ device as he originally conceived it, the results would spell a swift doom for half the planet, and a somewhat slower doom for the rest. But that fact did not trouble his mind. Had anyone had the temerity to point it out, Lord Tar would have disintegrated him for his insolence and proceeded apace. He wanted the North Americans to suffer horribly; he wanted Ivan Bolodnikov dead. He wanted all his enemies to pay for their interference in his plans, and pay they would. A bit of collateral damage was an unavoidable consequence. Surely anyone with a functioning brain stem could grasp that concept.

He bent to his work, oblivious of his surroundings.

##

"But, Erkki, I've _got_ to know! I can't just sit out here, twiddling my thumbs, not knowing if he's all right or not. Can't we call them or something?"

"Not yet. Maybe not for quite a while."

Violet stomped a foot in frustration. "This is so _stupid!_ Surely Tar doesn't have a tap on _every_ line of communication we could use!"

"It is barely possible that he does not, I suppose. But it would be entirely within his capabilities to do just that. We have to remain hidden for now."

"And you're so sure he's still alive?"

He snorted a short and bitter laugh at that. "Yes. I am. Unless they were to use a thermonuclear device on him – and they did not, or I would have detected evidence of it by now – he would survive whatever weapons or tactics they used … any that I know about. And that covers a great deal of ground."

"But what about …"

"Shield, please. You yourself saw what he did to the other supers; and what they failed to do to him. He was even able to counteract your force field, which surprised me. For a brief moment I had held out some small hope that you might be able to kill him. If your father and you and Morph all failed to defeat him, what chance do you think anyone else would have?"

She chewed on her lower lip as she searched Reckoning's eyes for a sign that he wasn't just trying to make her feel better about their predicament, that he was _really_ telling the truth. Her previous level of trust in this man had all but evaporated after the fight, after her father had been so badly injured. Now she questioned everything he said.

He had explained to her earlier about how he'd turned her father over to the CCK before high-tailing it away from the area, and that he had still been alive at that point, though not conscious. She had many questions, and his answers to most of them were still much too sketchy to suit her. But he was so well-versed at giving the truth a totally mind-blowing amount of 'latitude' while keeping his face and body language completely sincere, that she was honestly taken in. Practice, after all, makes perfect.

Violet had come awake this morning as if from a night terror, jerking upright on her bed and screaming. In reflex she tried to activate her personal field, but nothing happened. That made her scream even more. Reckoning was there immediately, calming her down – or trying to – and explaining where they were and why. It took a while for her dazed state to subside, and in the mean time he showed her to the bath so she could get cleaned up, and then got her on the outside of a bran muffin and a couple of cups of coffee. After that, they talked – well, he talked and she mostly listened and wept – for nearly an hour about their situation, and what their next steps would need to be. Then he told her a little bit about the place they were staying, a reconditioned castle that he'd outfitted with state-of-the-art surveillance and cloaking equipment. He explained that he'd funded it by secretly siphoning off cash from some of Achmedjan's more lucrative operations. The place was a small citadel, a leftover from earlier times when battles tended to be bloodier and more personal.

"How'd you get access to Tar's money? If he's so all-knowing and stuff, it seems to me that he'd pick up on that."

"I have a natural facility with information storage and retrieval. His empire is so vast and so far-flung that there is no possible way he could personally monitor the whole thing. Besides, I've been working against him for a few years now. I never took much at any one time, and I always covered my tracks, always working through the underling of an underling."

She gave him a penetrating stare. "You seem uncommonly good at a _**lot**_ of things the authorities might find very interesting."

"Necessity is the mother of successful skulking. I had little choice. I did what I felt I had to do to protect myself." He decided to play one of his trump cards. He knew he wouldn't be able to do it very often, but thought this situation warranted it. "If you will recall, I do not have a family to fall back on."

There was that stare again. At length she said, "Perhaps." And she let it drop.

He felt the need to establish his story more firmly. "We have a history, he and I. I have foiled his plans more than once, and before he even knew who I was, he put out a contract on me, and has sworn to see me dead. He has seen you with me, and in his mind, that makes you just as much the enemy as I … really, I think he would consider _any_ super the enemy. He has eyes and ears everywhere. His network is vast, many times broader than my own, and buried deeply. He will be hunting for me now. We would be spotted, I am sure of it. Only if we stay here, cloaked and out of sight, away from anyone else, will we be safe. And that safety is not a guaranteed thing. His technology is hundreds of years ahead of ours. With the jamming equipment I have, I do not _think_ he can find me by using my brain-wave patterns … but I am not a hundred percent sure. Shield, please believe me, we have to stay here!"

She considered that for a few seconds, and then said, "Very well. Assuming this Demon character is as capable as you say, are we even safe now? Couldn't he find you here?"

"That possibility troubles me at times. I cannot deny it. But this castle is not listed in any of his internal documents, anywhere. He does not know it exists. That is why I came here."

"Eh. It's a ways off the beaten path, I'll grant you that."

"Also I do not believe that he can locate me via psychic means. The jammers are designed exactly for that. So as long as we stay quiet, it will be as if we dropped off the planet. Believe me, that is for the best."

"You keep talking about 'jammers'. What's a jammer?"

"There is a piece of equipment in my control room that activates a grid running around the perimeter of the castle. It prevents us from being spied on telepathically."

"Where in the world did you get something like that?"

"I had it built. The same one who made my suit put it together for me."

"And it really works?"

"_Everything_ he makes really works."

"Oh." She ruminated for a moment and then said, "We _could_ leave the country. Get a plane and fly to North America. At least then you could tell the NSA what you know about this menace. They've got some pretty bright folks working there, you know."

"An excellent idea. Can you fly a plane?"

"Ah … no."

"Neither can I. If we took the time to contact someone in the government, Lord Tar would find out. Taking a commercial flight would be even worse."

"Well … okay, why couldn't we just make a fast run for the CCK? Go to their headquarters? Sure, he might notice us, but once we got there …"

"I have been doing some snooping. His attention is currently divided by his lust for revenge against me, and he is expending many of his resources trying to find me instead of just going after the others who attacked him. I consider that a good thing. Do you really think it best to show ourselves and give him an easy target? And do you really want to have him aiming for a highly populated area?"

She had no ready comeback for that. After sitting pensively for a few minutes she rose and left the room.

Ivan stared after her, shortly allowing himself a small, congratulatory smile.


	35. Chapter 35 Castle

Chapter Thirty-Five

When Violet came into the kitchen that evening, Reckoning looked up from the meal he was preparing and smiled. "Good afternoon. I was beginning to think I would have to go find you. This is almost ready, if you would like to …"

"What about your other place?"

He stood straight and put the ladle on the stove top. "Other place? What do you … oh. Oh! You mean my house."

"Yes. Your house." She lifted an arm, taking in their surroundings. "What's all this about if you've got that other place? Or why even _have_ that place if you've got this one?"

"Ah. Yes, I can see why that would be confusing." He came around to the table, pulled a chair out for her and held its back. She gave him a dubious look, but shrugged and sat.

He moved back to the stove. "I _bought_ that homestead. It is mine. It was purchased from the correct authority, with legitimate money, and I have full legal right to be there."

"Yeah. You explained that before."

"Ah, but you see, this castle is _not_ mine. It belonged to an old, aristocratic family whose members were all banished when Lenin took over. On paper the land belongs to the Soviet, but they never made a formal claim to this castle. Technically, it still belongs to the family that built it, even though not one single representative of that family has lived in Russia in over sixty years. They mostly died out, but a few of them have been successful. The ones that are left mostly live in France. None of them has any interest in returning to the USS. And nobody else has any interest in the property. It is too remote."

Violet frowned in confusion. "Well, how'd _you_ end up with it?"

"I was looking for a place that I could use in an emergency, in case things really went wrong … and as you know, they have. This was one of several such places I investigated, all abandoned for decades. I chose this one both for its isolation and because the building is sound. The foundation …"

"Which one did you get first?"

"… Which … oh. This castle. I have been working here off and on for a couple of years. I only bought the homestead late last year."

"And nobody cares that you're using this place?"

"Nobody knows."

"… Oh."

"But, to answer your question, I do not think that anyone _would_ care. If the local governing authorities found out that I was staying here and had made some improvements to the property, they might send me a tax bill. But there is nothing around here. Who will know?"

"That's true enough. I can't see another building in any direction."

"There is a very small village about fifty-five kilometers to the east. They are only there because a thermal vent allows them to run a primitive steam plant, and they can have free electricity. The next closest town is a hundred and eighty kilometers to the south. Other than the occasional nomadic group that wanders through, we're all alone here."

A low whistle answered that statement. "Yeah, okay. That's pretty remote." She frowned again. "Why'd anybody ever build a place like this in the dead middle of nowhere?"

"That I cannot say. It has been here, according to the family records, since at least 1580. I think it is in excellent condition for being over four hundred years old."

"Yeah, I guess." She looked around the room. "Great big timbers. They cut down the local forest to build this thing?"

"Again, I do not know. There were no records of its construction." He picked up the ladle and stirred the contents of the pot.

She asked, "How you getting electricity? I don't see any wires coming in."

"There is a bank of generators in what was the dungeon, down beneath the old stables, and several thousand liters of fuel. Additionally, I have a hundred and fifty square meters of solar panels attached to the south side of the roof, and a very good battery setup. It is a redundant system."

"Is the generator running now?"

"I do not know. If the batteries lose a certain amount of charge, the generator will come on and power them back up. But we do not use very much power, so it is likely that the solar panels supply what we need."

"Hmm." She lowered her eyes to stare at her hands in her lap.

He cocked his head and asked, "Is something troubling you?"

She raised a disgusted face to him. "Is 'something' troubling me? _Several_ 'somethings' are troubling me, Erkki! We're cut off from civilization; pretty much completely it looks like. I don't know if my father is alive or dead. There's a megalomaniac with what you describe as nearly limitless power running around loose, and he's _hunting_ us." Her eyes began to shimmer with frustration. She stood, her fists clenched. "And I don't have my _powers_ back! Is 'something' _troubling_ me? You gotta be _kidding!_" She stormed out of the kitchen.

He dropped the ladle into the pot and sighed deeply. _This isn't going quite as well as I had hoped._

##

A timid knock on the door to his lab brought Lord Tar's head up. He rumbled, "Enter."

One of the liveried servants came in. A sheen of perspiration immediately covered his face. Whether it was from the excessive heat in the room or his excessive fear of being in the Master's presence mattered little to the cyborg. He gestured to the man impatiently. "Whatever it is, out with it."

"A message, Lord, from one of your agents. He says he has found Bolodnikov's trail."

A feral grin spread over the broad face. "Excellent. Where is he?"

"To the north, my Lord."

"North? Exactly _where_ in the north?"

"I, ah … his message did not say, m-my Lord."

"North? Is that _all_ he said? Just north?"

"Ah … th-that is … uh, yes, m-m-my L-Lord."

"Stop that infernal stuttering."

The servant swallowed and nodded.

Lord Tar observed, "Most of the Motherland lies to the north of here. He could have flipped a coin and done _that_ well."

"I promise that I will get his full report to you as soon as he sends it, my Lord."

"See that you do." He frowned at the man. "And fix your collar. It looks ridiculous turned under like that."

The servant hastened to comply. "Is there … anything else … I should tell him, my Lord?"

"Yes." He thought for a second and said, "Come here." Though frightened half out of his wits, the man did, and Achmedjan placed a thick hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer until their faces were only centimeters apart. Conversationally, he said, "Tell him that I have decided to kill Bolodnikov myself. I wish to feel his life leaking away under my hands. I will flay his skin in small pieces and feed it to him. I will break his limbs off one joint at a time." His eyes lit with anticipation. "I will have him screaming until he has nothing left to scream with." He patted the man on his head, as one would a small child, and then turned back to his work. "Tell him that for me."

Sweating furiously, the servant bobbed his head and backed away and out of the door quickly.


	36. Chapter 36 Emotion

Chapter Thirty-Six

Ivan noted the next morning that Violet had come back to the kitchen some time during the night and fixed herself a plate of stew. It didn't look as if she'd eaten much.

He didn't see her at breakfast, so he went to her room. Her bedclothes were rumpled in a knot with the pillows, and the wardrobe door stood open. He went over to it and peered within, noting that the parka was missing. Then he went over to the bed and worked a hand up under the counterpane: it was still vaguely warm. She'd not been absent long.

He didn't worry about her leaving. In the first place, she didn't know where she was, and in the second, the garage housing the only two working vehicles on-site was secured with a high-quality combination lock. Ergo, she must be prowling around the castle somewhere.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable need to know where she was. He wanted to be certain that she was safe, wanted to know that she was warm and …

He paused in that short train of thought and looked back at the bed. Slowly, he leaned over until his forehead was against her pillow. He breathed in deeply, catching her lingering scent; did it again; picked the pillow up and rubbed it deliberately across his face.

_Cherry blossoms. A mug of cider in small, tanned hands. Stray sunbeams chasing one another through the flowing, green canopy on an afternoon in early spring._

He blinked and dropped the pillow, shuddering briefly. Then he turned and stalked out of the room, confusion battling ire on his features.

##

Ivan had every major area of the castle wired for video, and most of those outfitted with audio pickup as well. Once he got back to his control room, it didn't take him long to find her. She had climbed to the top of the east tower, and stood just behind the crenelations, staring off to the south.

He sat there, lounging in his chair, and just watched her for a quarter hour until her shivering got the best of her and she headed back down the stairs. He could have switched cameras periodically and followed her track, but he didn't. He was turning over in his mind that odd episode in her bedroom, when he'd been blindsided by a memory from his childhood.

_What was that all about? I haven't thought about that vacation since before the CCK got my parents killed. Why did it spring to mind now? Where did that come from? _He chewed the questions relentlessly, and curiosity wouldn't let him just find a place to bury that bone.

He still hadn't moved half an hour later when the door creaked open. He started and whirled around in his chair.

Violet raised a hand briefly. "Hi."

"Uh … Hello. I missed you earlier. Have you broken your fast?"

"Not hungry much. I've been walking around the castle."

"I see." He reached around behind his chair and surreptitiously blanked the screen that had been monitoring the battlement. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No. That's why I came here." She walked over to him and parked herself on a console. "Tell me something."

"If I can."

"I'm curious as to why you left Dad but brought me along."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm here. He's there. But it seems to me that Achmedjan would want him dead just as much as he wants me dead."

"Oh. I see." He leaned forward in his chair and put on his most genuine expression. "You are right, I should explain. Mostly it was simple, blind panic. I wanted to get you to a safe place. But Mr. Incredible was badly injured and you were unconscious and no longer able to keep his bleeding in check. He needed medical attention, and I suppose I realized that on some level. You both needed to disappear, but there was not much I could do about that for him."

"Ah-huh."

"And as far as the direction of The Demon's wrath is concerned, Mr. Incredible was one super out of many that fought him. So, nothing special about him in that respect. But you were with me. He saw you. And he is after me … personally. I _had_ to get you into hiding."

"And that was your only motivation?"

"Well ..." He comprehended that nothing but the truth would serve here. "I suppose that, subconsciously, I wanted you with me. You probably know that I have felt ... a kind of attraction ... ever since I first saw you." He hung his head. "I was selfish."

"Yes, you were."

"I am sorry."

"You are forgiven."

"Thank you."

"You said you'd been snooping."

"… Uh? … What?" That shift caught him off guard.

"You said Achmedjan was busy looking for you. Dividing his resources or some such. To find out that sort of info, you'd have to be able to tap into his communications network somehow or other."

"Ah! Yes, that is true. Over the course of my … well, I suppose you could call it my battle with him, although that fight at his headquarters was the first time we had ever met as enemies face to face … I developed a sort of back door that lets me look at the records for some of his underlings and agents."

"And he doesn't know about any of that?"

"No."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't have to think about _that_ answer very long."

"I do not leave those avenues open. I know how to bypass his protections, and I know how to derive his passwords."

"Yeah, you mentioned something about being some kind of savant where computers are concerned."

"Maybe not a savant, but I do well enough."

"So whenever you want to peek at his network, you can?"

"Yes. Each time I go into the system, to anyone who might be watching for an intruder, I look like nothing more than another legitimate agent checking in."

"Ah-huh." She studied his face, considering his words. "For somebody who doesn't specialize in the field, you seem to be pretty darn good with computers."

"As good as I need to be."

She gave him a bright, encouraging smile. "No, really, I mean it! I bet you can tap into just about any system."

"No, not _any_ system. Stand-alones are safe. But if the system has a satellite link, I can get into it."

"Good." Her smile grew to a pleased and self-satisfied smirk. "The CCK has a whole _system_ of satellites. I want you to find a way into their medical database and find out for me how my father is doing."

He sat back in shock, his mouth hanging open, realizing that had been boxed in very neatly. He felt a measure of respect for that tactic, and decided that he had under-estimated her once again.

This presented him with a conundrum. He'd told her that he had dropped her father off with the CCK when in reality he had merely shoved Bob's dead weight out onto the desert sand in a conveniently remote location. Personally, he rather expected that the elder super would be nothing more than food for the crows by now. After considering his options briefly, and concluding that he could probably generate a reasonable facsimile of the information she wanted, without undue danger to himself, he decided to go along with it. "Very well. I will try."

"Thank you. Do you have any idea how long it'll take?"

"If I can locate a portal, it should not take long. I will have to make sure that The Demon does not already have a tap on that line."

"Demon, Demon, Demon!" she huffed. "I can't even _fabricate_ a reason for him to do that. It doesn't sound like information he would find to be the _least bit_ useful." She hopped off the console and cocked her arms akimbo. "And besides, since he doesn't know this place exists, and you're using an anonymous port, he'd have no way of knowing it was you even if he _did_ notice it."

_Smart. This girl is __sharp__. I must never forget that fact._ "You are correct. Perhaps I have made paranoia too much of a habit. I will begin now."

"Good. I'm going after some breakfast. I'll check back in a while."

##

Violet was no small shakes as a cook, and had found ample supplies from which to concoct a tasty meal. She was in the process of cleaning up when Reckoning walked softly up to the kitchen door. He paused just out of sight and looked again at the papers he held.

It had come as rather a bad shock to him to discover that Mr. Incredible was actually still alive. Against all odds, someone had found him and brought him in to the hospital that the CCK maintained for its supers. From all that Ivan could find out, the old man would make a full recovery. He'd debated with himself for several minutes as to whether he should tell Violet the truth or make up something else, but finally figured out how this might work to his advantage. After all, Mr. Incredible couldn't know anything about his perfidy. He was sure that nobody else did. The only rub might come later when – or if – they got back in touch with Violet's family. If the subject came up, the stories wouldn't jibe, and there was sure to be trouble. But, he reflected darkly, he might be able to eliminate the issue before that happened.

He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and entered the kitchen. She saw him immediately, her eyes widening in anticipation of his news. He walked over to the counter and handed her two sheets of paper. She quickly scanned them and then heaved a long sigh of relief.

He said, "This shows that our first aid in the field was the right thing to do. As you can see, they are merely waiting for the isolated elements of the toxin to be washed out of his system."

"Yes! That's _wonderful!_ I especially like the 'prognosis – good' part." She read down the list again. "No organ damage, no CNS damage. He should be fine once he wakes up." She dropped the papers on the table and turned shining eyes on him. "So you really _did_ save his life."

"I guess I did."

A single tear tracked its way down to the corner of her smile. She took a step forward and grabbed him in a fierce hug, whispering, "Thank you," into his shirt.

Though initially surprised by her action, he recovered a bit of aplomb and returned her embrace smoothly. "You are most welcome." _ Is this really happening? She is here, in my arms, holding me!_ "It is … truly my pleasure to be of service, especially …" _She feels so good! Smells so good! This is unbelievable!_ "… especially if this is the kind of …" _So __indescribably__ good! _"… thanks I can … I can expect."

She looked up at his face, and was stilled by the transparent emotion glowing there. Eyes locked, neither moved. He wondered if he was seeing what he thought – what he fervently hoped – he was seeing.

He felt her hand sliding a little farther up his back. She opened her mouth to say something … closed it … and finally whispered, "Erkki?"

_She was to him as a wild fawn, fearing danger but curious, taking a timid step in his direction as he knelt, holding out a handful of sweet clover._

He swallowed, and nodded, and said, "Yes!"

_His scent, the power in his arms as he held her, the raw, wild desire she saw plainly in his face frightened her with its intensity, yet she could no more deny her response than she could deny herself air._

She paused a moment, drew a short breath, and gave a slight gesture of assent. Then, slowly, he lowered his lips to hers.

Nothing in his admittedly vivid imagination had prepared him for the rush that swept through his frame at her warm kiss – a subtle medley of flavor that brought to mind berries and cinnamon and night flowers – and he knew instantly he'd never get enough of it. Her hair was loose and brushed his cheek, adding a hint of storm-wind and herb to the mix. The whirl of plans and schemes and deception that normally occupied his mind was erased absolutely, overcome and wiped clean by the unbearable sweetness of her mouth.

She reached up and twined her fingers into his hair. She'd wondered for some time what that might feel like. It was loosely curly, and had lots of body, but it didn't look stiff or coarse, and she discovered that it wasn't. She also decided that he excelled as a kisser.

They broke the clutch after a minute, both gasping a little, and she leaned her face back against his chest. He held on like a drowning man, one hand gripping her braid while the other wrapped around her slender waist.

In a bit she said, "Erkki?"

He took another long breath and responded, "Y-yes?"

"What was that?"

"That was … it was …" He was having a little trouble focusing his eyes, much less forming coherent sentences. "It … you were … I mean, I was … you …"

"Yeah. I'm a little dizzy, too." Although she didn't slip out of the embrace, she pulled away from him a few centimeters and caught his gaze again. "I, um … I don't believe anyone's ever kissed me … quite like that … before."

Not trusting his voice, he merely gave his head a slight shake.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached up and took his hand in hers, brought it around to her mouth and lightly pressed her lips to the back of it. "Not that I claim to be any kind of expert, but I'd say that carried a lot of promise."

This time he just nodded.

She answered with a short nod of her own. "I see." She drew away slowly, trailing her hand down his arm until her fingers meshed with his. "So that's how it is."

A light shiver ran down his body. Waiting to learn what she meant by that comment, the seconds stretched out into eternities. But she finally eased his fears somewhat with a bright smile.

"Well," she said, "I guess we'll just have to see how things develop, won't we?"

Still at a loss for words, he simply nodded again.

She gave his hand a last squeeze and then walked toward the door. At the threshold she looked back at him, gave him that brilliant smile again, and swung around the frame out of sight. He heard her begin to hum to herself as she moved away.

He sank into a chair and dropped his head into his hands._ What am I __doing__? Got to get myself under __control__! Got to __maintain__!_ But it took some time before his thoughts were again his own.


	37. Chapter 37 Violet

Chapter Thirty-Seven

As far as Dash could tell, Leonid had been living on coffee and energy bars for the last week. He half-expected to walk into the lab one morning and find the little man walking around with a wheeled rack holding an intravenous caffeine drip.

In the last three days, he and Leo had made four unauthorized forays into highly secured areas: two in Soviet government facilities, one to an optics lab in the United Kingdom, and one to the Idaho National Laboratory's plasma research site. None of the visits had taken more than a hundred and ten seconds, which pleased Leo mightily. In between, the odd little super had worked twenty hours a day, stopping only when his body gave out from fatigue. Then he would retire to a shabby leather chair near a window in his lab and go motionless for a few hours, a habit that Dash found quite irritating.

Leo never made an effort to explain why they were taking the things that they took, or what the bewildering mass of wires and components and displays that cluttered three entire lab tables was supposed to do once he got it finished … if that ever happened. The time all this was taking seemed like years to Dash. Dozens of unpleasant scenarios involving his sister and Ivan Bolodnikov played themselves over in his head, and though Leo continued to insist that Violet was in no real danger, nothing he said could really calm him. When Dash pressed him as to how he could know these details, he would get a thousand-meter stare for several moments, shrug, and say, "I just know. You must trust me."

They weren't too far into the first day of their partnership before Dash decided that this answer bugged the livin' starch out of him.

They'd made their most recent 'withdrawal' around twenty-three-hundred, about ten hours ago, and after they got back Dash had tried to get some sleep, but found peaceful rest elusive. His dreams were haunted by misty visions of Reckoning doing unspeakable things to Violet, and he didn't really feel refreshed when he awoke at dawn.

He prowled around the nearest kitchenette, found some eggs, and made himself an omelet out of ten of them. That, half a kilo of bacon, and a liter of apple juice got him feeling a little better, and he went back to the lab. He wanted to be handy for their next extraction.

Leo was in one of his design frenzies, where he focused solely on the project before him and tuned out the rest of the world. Dash thought it looked a little like a trance, except that Leo's arms and fingers were in constant, rapid motion, attaching and testing and encoding and a hundred other things that totally mystified the big super. He couldn't even make a guess at what most of the equipment in the lab did.

The fourth time that Dash checked the lab, Leo had stopped. He sat up straight on his high stool, stretched hugely, and rubbed his lower back with a slight groan. Dash zipped over and asked, "Is it finished?"

Leo stared at him and blinked twice, slowly. Then he said, "Hmm? What was that?"

"Your thingy. The anti-cyborg device, or whatever it is. Is it done?"

"Oh. No. Not quite." His gaze clouded over again. "I have to locate the next part."

Dash gave an exaggerated sigh. "So, how much longer?"

"Eh?" Leo wasn't looking at him.

"I said how much longer will it be until you're done? We can't wait forever!"

"Oh. Yes. You are right, of course." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried focusing on Dash. "It should be another four to five days. Certainly no more than six. That is assuming we can find the last three parts in a timely manner."

"Nearly a _week?_ I can't wait that long!" Dash paced like a caged animal. "I gotta find him, and I gotta open up a can o' whoop-ass on him!"

Leo sighed. "And are you in that big a rush to die?"

Dash stopped and stared at Leo. "You seem very confident that he can kill me."

"He killed eight supers in five months. It was not difficult for him. The hardest part was not the killing, but the remaining undetected afterward. Before that he killed nearly a dozen over a period of several years. Many of them were powerful. Very powerful. You have amazing speed and you are strong. Your suit is proof against _ordinary_ bullets and would save you many wounds in an _ordinary_ battle. But he would take your speed before you could touch him, the slugs from his machine pistol can penetrate three centimeters of armor plate … and anyway, he would not aim for your suit. Attacking him before we are ready would be nothing but suicide." He ended his monologue with a prodigious yawn and rubbed his eyes again.

"Hmph. Maybe." Dash crossed his arms and moped, "But I don't have to like it."

Leo slipped off the stool and weaved his way over to his recliner. "I need … get busy … find alloy for the resonance mask housing … no time … no time." He plopped down into his chair, laced his fingers together over his chest, and stilled his breathing. His face went limp.

Dash gazed uneasily at the flaccid features. Leo's eyes had deep, _deep_ dark circles under them. His skin looked pinched and sallow, and his whole frame seemed … drained, somehow.

"This workload can't be good for you, little buddy. You've _gotta_ take a break some time, or you'll kill yourself."

There was no answer from the motionless figure.

##

"More tea, Shield?"

"No, thank you. I've still got half a cup."

Ivan poured another cup for himself, and set the decanter back down beside the samovar. He and Violet sat in a pair of antique wing-backed chairs on either side of a low table in a small anteroom off the main corridor, not too far from the kitchen. Violet liked the room for the old tapestries on two of the walls, and they'd adopted it as their dining room. Although it was June, in this place the evening air grew rather more than bracing and the cold did its best to penetrate the old, stone walls, so Ivan built a fire in the grate after supper each night. Violet was staring into it now. Ivan was staring at her.

Pretending not to notice his frank appraisal, she rearranged her legs on the seat, placed her cup on the table, and leaned back with a sigh, her eyes closed. "I feel like Belle."

Ivan's expression shifted from 'penetrating' to 'quizzical'. "You certainly do not _look_ like a bell. Why do you feel like one?"

"No. I mean I feel like _Belle_. The character from that old fairy tale, _Beauty and the Beast_. She was imprisoned in an enchanted castle, with invisible servants." Violet held out a slim hand, indicating their late meal. "The only difference is that our invisible servants are various forms of electricity."

"So … do you feel like a prisoner?"

"More than you know."

Ivan dropped his gaze. "I am sorry for that."

"Yeah. So was the Prince, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Neither can you."

"I know it is hard, but we _must_ remain out of …"

"Yeah, I know. Gotta hide from The Demon." She turned a pained look on him. "Erkki, are my powers _ever_ going to come back?"

"I trust so. From what little I have heard of The Demon's influence, they should. But I do not know how long it will take. To my knowledge, only two supers were so drained and allowed to live afterward, and it was only because it amused Achmedjan to toy with them. One of them got his powers back in ten days, the other in three weeks."

"Were they able to get away then?"

"No."

"… Oh." She stared at the fire again. Ivan rose and poked it up, then added a log before returning to his seat.

"Do you think he did that to Dad, too?"

"There is no way to be sure. But he attacked your mind. That attack on Mr. Incredible was purely physical, and may not have had such an effect."

"Yeah. Maybe. But Dad's power _**is**_ purely physical."

"I do not know, Shield. Where The Demon is concerned, there are too many unanswerable questions."

"Boy, you got _that_ right."

They lapsed into silence for a bit before Ivan asked, "Would you like to go out?"

"Out? Out where?"

"Out for a walk around the grounds. It should be clear, and with no artificial lights nearby the stars are really quite brilliant at this altitude."

She considered that briefly and shook her head. "Y'know, I think … I think I'll just go on to, uh …" She stole a very quick glance in his direction. "… to bed." Her hands fidgeted with each other for a moment. "I, um … don't feel much like walking." She got up and paced to the door.

He rose to follow her. "Is your new room comfortable now?"

"Oh, yes! It's much better than that first room." She stopped at the door and turned in his direction, her hand gripping its edge. "The wall hangings help a lot and the, uh …" She dropped her gaze. "… the bed's nice and big."

He caught his breath, wondering if that comment might hold two meanings. "Do you … need anything?"

"Need? Like what?"

"Oh, uh … You were chilly last night."

"Um … I, uh … that is, no, I'm … pretty sure you got me enough blankets now." She glanced back up. "Thanks, though."

He was standing very close. "You are most welcome."

She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. A brief impulse struck her to say to him that he was 'most welcome' to join her, but she fought it. His blue-green eyes were nearly black in the dim light, dark and very intense, and she had no desire to look away. "Well," she replied, her voice trembling just the slightest bit, "G'night."

"Shield?"

"… Yes?"

He could read nothing in her expression as she stood there, her delicate, oval face upturned, but her vulnerability and her nearness brought his own longings much too close to the surface. The hunger nearly overpowered him. Over the course of the day, they had not spoken of the kiss they had shared that morning, but its shadow fluttered around them like a moth, refusing to go away. He _knew_ that he wanted more … much more. He hoped she did.

He cleared his throat. "You said that you felt like the girl in _Beauty and the Beast_."

"… Yes. I did."

"So …"

"… So?"

"Am I, then, the Beast?"

Those fine, indigo eyes widened ever so slightly. She took one slow breath and said, "You … might be."

"Did she not … find that, in the end she had … real feelings for the Beast?"

Violet nodded but did not otherwise reply. She hadn't moved a centimeter since opening the door.

"Then perhaps there is hope for me."

She gasped, almost inaudibly, but didn't say anything. He thought she might have shivered the tiniest bit.

Clamping down furiously on his emotions, he caressed her hand lightly with his, clasped it gently, briefly, and released her. "Sleep well, Shield."

She stared at him so long that he began to grow nervous. Then she blurted, "Violet."

He started at the suddenness of her voice. "I beg your pardon?"

"That's my name. You can call me Violet." She turned abruptly and fled down the long hall.

His eyes followed her until she got to the corner. He stood there for a few moments, gazing after her, and then he sighed heavily and went back to his chair.

Most of what passed for a conscience in Ivan Bolodnikov had been burnt to a cinder several years back. Nevertheless, his work with Violet, and especially their close proximity over the last few days, was stirring the ashes a bit. For the first time since he began his machinations to get her where he wanted her, a tiny shred of doubt settled in his mind.

Apart from his brother, Violet was the first _truly_ good and decent human being he had dealt with in his memory. She didn't have hidden agendas. She refused on principle to play with his head. He'd figured out that the skinny-dipping incident had been nothing more than an impulsive experiment, and that she had been deeply embarrassed by her actions. She honestly tried to do the right thing, and do it consistently.

Hmph. _How_, he asked himself, _would __**you**__ know? _'Doing the right thing' was a nearly alien concept to him any more. Until now, the 'right and wrong' of what he was doing with her had never been an issue. But lately he had begun to consider, however briefly and lightly, how the end result of his plans might make her feel in the long term.

Was he, he wondered, actually falling in love?

Was that even _possible_ for someone like him?

The consequences of his actions, on a personal level, rarely entered into his calculations. If someone or something got in his way, he eliminated the obstacle. End of problem.

But … he couldn't do that with Violet. He didn't _want_ to do that with Violet. He _wanted_ her _with_ him, not just for the moment, not just for gratifying his lust, but forever. He had never wanted anything else so badly in his life. He thought she might be headed in that direction, might be developing an attraction that could last for the rest of her life. He wished he knew more about the inner workings of her mind.

But could he really pull it off? She had family ties, strong ones. Could they all be severed? Was he really a good enough assassin to get rid of them all without ever casting suspicion on himself?

But if her family died, that would make her sad. He didn't _want_ her to be sad. That thought shocked him. How long had it been since he'd cared about another's feelings?

_Did_ he really care? Where would be the logic in that? Wouldn't injecting emotion into the situation, especially emotion of the intensity he knew was there, threaten the outcome?

Could he afford _not_ to care? Was he even, at this stage of the game, _capable_ of not caring?

For that matter, was his desired outcome still unchanged? He honestly did not know any more.

Too many questions.

He remained in the room, staring at nothing, making plans, brooding, trying to settle his mind for two hours. He finished the tea, collected their few dishes and took them to the kitchen, loaded them into the autoclave and started the cleaning cycle. Then, as he had done the previous three nights, he walked quietly to stand in front of Violet's door, where he listened to make sure she slept.

Up until now, he had simply completed his task and left. Tonight, he stood there a long, long while, trying to come to terms with himself. In many ways this really was new territory. For one thing, he had rarely had occasion to drain the same super's abilities more than once, and never in the past five years; that experimental stage was long past. He knew it wasn't permanent, and that the time it took for the powers to re-emerge varied from one individual to another. In his brother's case, for example, it took two days. Forty-eight hours, on the dot. The first time had been an accident, shortly after that episode with the CCK super, Sylph, who had tried to interfere with an assassination when Ivan was still nothing but an enforcer for a local crime boss. The second time with Leo had been a few years later, when Ivan had lost his temper over some trivial incident. Still forty-eight hours, exactly. But he had never, before this week, drained a super more than twice. In recent years, once was all he needed or desired.

Thinking back, he realized he had drained her six times thus far. Tonight would make seven. He wondered what sort of effect this might be having on her powers. There was no way to know. Would they dry up forever? Would they be weakened or changed in some fashion? No baseline existed to give him any hint of the right answer. He couldn't tell if it had made a difference with Leo. He had no metric to use.

As he stood pondering, he felt that insistent itch in the back of his head that told him her powers were re-emerging. Brow furrowed, he glanced at his watch. _Nearly an hour sooner than yesterday; and that was forty minutes sooner than the day before. Not good. I'll have to keep a closer eye on her from now on._ At that point he decided that maintaining the status quo would have to do for at least another day. A mask of dark emotion dropped over his face, and a translucent, golden glow shot through with blue-white sparks surrounded him briefly. A subtle _snap_ sounded, and he left.

Violet turned in her bed, shivered, and pulled the covers up closer to her chin.


	38. Chapter 38 Invisible

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Leo 'floated' through the shining, silvery medium that was this plane, or state of being, or whatever it was. Though he'd gained a great deal of confidence in 'moving' around this way, he'd yet to come up with a satisfactory name for most of what went on here. Nevertheless, he knew which 'way' to go, following his intuition to his goal. His speed was unknowable. Sometimes he was suddenly at another 'place', sometimes the 'journey' seemed agonizingly slow. He could see no correlation to terrestrial distances, try though he might.

Suddenly his soul thrilled to the soundless, keening joy that was that Other, and she was there. The rush and flow of her power rang in his mind, lifting him, hinting of near-infinite vistas. He 'stopped' and 'knelt'.

[ [ Kitsune … it is an honor to see you again ] ]

_**I, TOO, AM PLEASED TO MEET YOU …  
**__**I WOULD KNOW WHERE YOU GO**_

[ [ I seek a device … I need it to fight The Demon ] ]

_**AND THIS DEVICE MAY BE FOUND ONLY IN MY LANDS**_

[ [ if it exists elsewhere, I do not know of it … but I can make one myself if you prefer … it would take longer … ] ]

_**DO NOT FEAR, LITTLE ONE …  
**__**YOUR NEED EXCEEDS MY OWN …  
**__**YOU MAY HAVE THE DEVICE**_

Suddenly, a clear image of the exact location of the component that he needed flashed into his mind.

[ [ I thank you, Kitsune … you bless me with your aid ] ]

_**YOUR TASK IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU KNOW …  
**__**WHAT AID I CAN GIVE, I GIVE GLADLY …  
**__**LIKE THIS …**_

She 'reached' out to him … 'touched' him … smiled at him. And then he was alone.

Leo stirred and sat up. Dash noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and said, "Hey. Welcome back."

He croaked, "How long?"

"Oh, 'bout half an hour I'd say."

Leo got out of the chair and lurched for the tray of food Dash had prepared for him. Four sandwiches and three whole pears later he stopped for breath.

Dash remarked, "Y'know I get the same way. If I've been running for a while, I get hungry enough to eat a mule, and don't bother skinning it."

"Until I began this work, I never _really_ knew what it felt like to be hungry. But lately," and here he poked softly at his midsection, "even though I'm eating more than usual, my weight has been dropping off." He downed a tall glass of orange juice and reached for another sandwich. As soon as it was gone, he got an odd look on his face.

Dash frowned and asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's the … I've got to … sleep." Seeming to fight his own legs, he stumbled back to his chair and got in it.

"You okay?"

"She said… rest … need rest … have to sleep."

"She? She, who?"

"Must … sleep … now." He lay back and closed his eyes.

"Leo? _Who_ said you had to sleep?"

No answer. The tension seemed to melt out of the little man as he stretched out on the recliner.

"You need me to get something? You doing that trance thing again?"

But Leonid wasn't vouchsafing anything. The slack, lifeless expression he usually wore was absent. If anything he looked peaceful. Shortly, a light snore escaped him.

"Crap," complained a disgusted Dash. "He didn't even tell me where the next piece was."

##

For yet another day, the two inhabitants of the remote castle successfully avoided the topic that was of keenest interest to them both.

The morning passed while they carefully searched through the various avenues of information that Reckoning could access (those that he was willing to admit to, at any rate). He explained that he had to lower their cloaking field in order to access the satellites, and he didn't like to leave it down for long, since it made them 'visible' to electromagnetic detection. So he would drop the coverage for a few minutes while doing a mass-download, and then re-establish the cloak while they reviewed the data at a more leisurely pace. They read through a great deal of detail about the recent battle, and a great deal of speculation about the nature and resources of The Demon. Violet deduced that the Soviet powers-that-be seemed to be waking up to the level of threat he could pose, since they were doing a massive military mobilization. Ivan was fairly certain that was _not_ the underlying cause for the buildup, but he kept his opinions to himself.

The afternoon they had spent in physical exertion. Violet had received enough training in hand-to-hand combat to make her dangerous to the average man on the street, but Reckoning's skills far surpassed hers. He showed her any number of holds, throws and joint-locks that she felt could be useful, especially given her current lack of super powers.

Neither did she object to the close physical contact that the instruction in many of the techniques entailed.

Afterward, Reckoning headed off to the kitchen to start supper, and Violet wandered over to the western side of the castle. This evening had brought with it hardly a breath of wind, which suited her. She wasn't a huge fan of the cold under the best of circumstances, and this drafty old castle seemed barely able to slow the chill Arctic breezes that blew down from the tundra.

One thing that helped to redeem this situation, to an extent, was that the sunsets were almost indescribably beautiful. She stood under the overhang just outside the smaller western entrance, drinking in the arched glory of red and gold and pink and magenta that covered two thirds of the sky. She'd spent half an hour here each of the previous three evenings, just before Reckoning came to take her in to supper.

Leaning against a column to the left of the door, she slowly turned her gaze this way and that, not wanting to miss a single nuance of the spectacular view, when a delicate flush of warmth washed over her. Something changed in her field of vision, and a slight vertigo caused her to reach for the wall. As she waited for her head to stop misbehaving, she realized what was different: she couldn't see her nose. In an excited rush she tore off one of her gloves and gasped in delight when it revealed nothing. Gleefully, she brought it back to visibility, and then made it vanish. She repeated the process several times before it occurred to her to try a force field, but that effort disappointed her. Apparently the powers returned at different times.

"No matter. At least now I know it'll be back." Then she thought _I've got to tell Erkki._ She turned to go back inside, calling out his name joyously. That's when she saw him, reflected in one of the small, round windows set into the angled stone beside the door, and the sight stopped her cold.

He was side-lit by the setting sun, and his expression looked _nothing_ like any she'd seen on him before. Dangerous and dark, his scowl spoke of deeds and intentions that everyone else would regret. The malevolence that sat there seemed oddly at home on his face. Violet's jaw dropped, and she knew a sudden and intense fear. Her legs refused to move. The next instant she saw him outlined by a weird glow, and she heard a muted _snap_. A momentary chill ran through her, followed again by that odd disorientation.

Then, as if some unseen hand had thrown a switch, the glow surrounding him winked out and his face … _altered_. The stark change, which was accomplished with no apparent effort between one heartbeat and the next, sent a frisson of horror racing down her limbs. The reality of what had just happened crashed in on her, and breathing suddenly became difficult. Quickly she glanced at her hand, willing it to vanish.

It remained stubbornly visible.

He raised an arm and called to her, all smiles, and came striding around the pillars that had hidden her from him … and from somewhere she dredged up the strength to turn and face him.

He walked up to her, saying, "I heard you calling, Violet. What is it? You sounded very happy."

She couldn't speak. She swallowed, opened her mouth a couple of times, made an abortive attempt at vocalizing, and finally rushed to him, grabbed his lapels in a fierce grip, and buried her face in his jacket.

He wrapped her in his arms, and with what sounded _exactly_ like genuine concern in his voice, he asked, "What is wrong? Is there something I can do?"

Her shattered thoughts began to settle back into some semblance of order. Quickly she ran back over what she had seen, and realized that he must not have noticed her reflection in the window; that her face had been in the shadows; that the sunset had more than likely been reflecting off that very same window, and glaring into his face …

_He doesn't know I saw him!_

When that sank in, one layer of the paralyzing fear lifted.

_What do I tell him now?_

_How do I explain my reaction?_

_It's only been a few seconds. Maybe I can bluff?_

_No … wait … there's a better way._

That entire train of thought had raced through her mind in the time it took to draw a breath. She sniffed and whimpered and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. Stammering, she said, "I ha-ha-had it b-back!"

"What? Had what back?"

"My p-powers! For just … just an instant there, I … I went invisible! I'm _sure_ of it! I even thought … I had … control over it. But then it just … it just faded out. And now …" She gathered a handful of his jacket in each hand, pressed her head against his chest again, and sobbed as if her life were over.

Ivan, with a smug smile she couldn't see, held her and patted her back. "I am sure it is just an after-effect of The Demon's attack on you. Your powers are of much greater strength than those of the other two supers I knew about. It is much sooner that they are returning, but they could come and go for a while before they are back for good. You will simply need to be patient. And do not worry. I will be here to protect you until then."

But she understood at last what was really going on. Several incidents that, taken separately, had puzzled her came together to make a chilling sort of sense.

_He__ is the one who sapped my powers. Not The Demon. Erkki. This man, who is holding me and pretending to care for me, has me at his mercy. And there isn't one solitary thing I can do about it._


	39. Chapter 39 Switch

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Taruz Achmedjan sat at the head of a long table that dominated a rather smallish room. He'd parked one of his encryption machines on it near his right hand. Four of his lieutenants stood in a line down the left side of the table. Despite their light attire – tank tops and shorts with open sandals – they were all sweating profusely. Lord Tar, bundled in a huge fur overcoat, sat between two tall convection heaters. They were turned up to their maximum settings.

The room was nearly a hundred meters underground. This place wasn't fancy, but it was _**very**_ secure.

The four men watched nervously as the huge crime lord fed several colorful sheets of paper into his machine and studied the results. Each time he would nod or grumble and then reach for the next sheet. When the last one had given up its secret, he sat back in his chair, his face dark and forbidding.

"So. We know many places where he is _not_." He turned his smoldering gaze on the four men. "Why is it you do not know where he _is?"_

The first man in line blurted out, "We will find him, my Lord! We have only been searching for a few days."

The man next to him said, "Please, Lord, we know he must be north and east of Moscow! We got confirmation of sightings of his transport! We will find him! We will!"

Each man had brought a valise with him containing the messages he bore, and each sat on the table in front of its owner. The Demon stared at the nearest one. The pale yellow beams licked out and caressed it, and a small shower of light, ashy dust settled onto the table.

"See that you do. I have little patience for failure. Send your forces after him. Find Ivan Bolodnikov. The one who finds him for me will have a great reward."

There was an enthusiastic chorus of assent. One of them asked, "What is the reward, Lord?"

He stared at them. The moments dragged by until they were all intensely uncomfortable. Finally, he replied, "He gets to live."

No answer followed that remark.

He looked at them, each in turn, and then said, "Why are you still here?"

The four men rushed for the door, not quite running. Lord Tar watched them leave. He sat silently for a minute, then got to his feet. "Much work to do. Much work. Little time." And he headed back down to his lab and the 'project' that was nearing completion.

He had worried this problem until it gave him an answer of sorts, though not the one he really wanted. The energy he needed to power his antimatter generator would come from an ordinary thermonuclear blast. He calculated that a four-hundred-kiloton warhead would be sufficient, but he bumped that up to a six hundred, just for a margin of safety. His containment field (identical in many respects to Violet's own projections) would hold in the resulting heat and radiation, funneling it into the generator. He would be able to achieve, on a much smaller scale, what he had been trying to do with the Hypermass Generator; and although it wouldn't deliver the punch his first calculations had hinted at, it would certainly be impressive enough.

After thinking about it, he decided that this pleased him. He would build this one and send it over to the North Americans … the first of many such gifts. Any port would do, since he intended to destroy them all. If they found and seized one or two, in the end it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't be a show-stopper, like what had happened with Project Vulcan, and he would be able to watch as the nation not-so-slowly fell apart. How utterly delicious.

His nuclear device was complete, his antimatter generator nearly so. The containment field projection system would be next. Then he would bundle it all up, and put a nice, red bow around it, and have it shipped post haste, and get busy on the next one.

Under normal conditions the procedure for detonating a thermonuclear bomb was insanely complicated, but after some fiddling he had reduced it to a single switch. Tripping that would set everything in motion, activate and calibrate all the ticklish timing mechanisms, start the countdown, and assure that the explosion happened when it was _supposed_ to happen. His intention was to mount everything in sequence when it came time to install the system in its final housing. For now, though, the switch in question, a simple butterfly setup that was in no way visually remarkable – and very much 'hot' – sat on a granite surface plate in front of its delay timer at the right side of Achmedjan's workbench … waiting.


	40. Chapter 40 Caffeine

Chapter Forty

Dash gazed with great satisfaction and no small bit of awe at the three-dimensional representation floating in the air in front of him.

"How'd you do this again?"

"Holography."

"Yeah, that's what you said. But I've seen holograms before, and this one looks … well, perfect."

"As you say. It is a small refinement of the current state of the art."

"But I mean, look at it! It's solid, the walls look like real stone, and there are shadows in the little doorways. You can see through the tiny, little windows. It's incredible."

"Thank you. It is a useful tool." Leo fiddled with the controls, and the near wall faded out, revealing an amazing amount of detail in the inner rooms. He adjusted something else and all the rooms but one paled to 'ghost', leaving a small one at the rear of the castle highlighted. "This is where we will come in."

"O-o-o-okay. But if you can teleport, and we're gonna be popping around the place anyway, why don't we just 'port in to the room where he's keeping Violet and get her out of there first?"

"Because I am not able to teleport past the jamming field that my brother has set up, nor do I know what room she will be in."

"Jamming field? He's got something that _jams_ your teleporter?"

Leo had his face turned away so Dash couldn't see his expression, but he thought the Russian's voice carried some distinct overtones of regret. "… Yes. I am afraid that he does."

"Where the heck did he get that?"

"… I built it for him."

Dash just stared at him. "Huh?"

"It was last year. Before … before I knew who he really was. He asked me for a device that would counteract long-range spying techniques, and I … went a little further with the design than that." He vented a small sigh and met Dash's eyes. "It is a very efficient system, compact and powerful, and impossible to defeat for all practical purposes. When it is activated, the castle will not register on radar, nor will it show any kind of power signature. One side effect is that the absolute positioner on my teleportation device gets scrambled at the field boundary."

"And you can't do _anything_ about it?"

Leonid gave a resigned shrug. "Given time and sufficient resources, I probably could. We have neither."

"That stinks."

"Yes. It does." He stared at the hologram, getting that 'long' look in his eyes. "I know she will be there. But … she will be moving. I will not be able to know her exact location until after we arrive. That is why we must break in at that point. It is the least-defended and most accessible entry in the castle."

"How'd you get the plans to this place, anyway?"

"I have seen it."

"Huh?" Dash turned a confused face his way. "You've been there? But you said …"

"No. I was never there."

"But I thought you said the place was a secret your brother was keeping from _everybody_. How'd you _see_ it?"

"I did not see it that way. I saw it … here." He tapped his temple. "It is a frustrating thing because sometimes I have little control over what I see, what I come to know."

"Saw it in your _mind?_ Like clairvoyance or something?"

"Or something. Many times it is simply a knowing, as if the images were being recalled from memory. Other times it forms before my eyes as if a map were growing from …"

"Whoa! Whoa! Wait a minute! Is _that_ what you do when you go all tranced-up in your chair?"

"Sometimes. More often I am searching for things."

"Searching? How?"

Leo just looked at him for a moment and then blew a sigh. "Truly my friend, I would like to be able to tell you."

"What, don't you trust me?"

"Trust is not the problem. Language is. Whenever I … I suppose 'enter my trance' will serve as well as anything. When I enter my trance I experience things I cannot describe. There are no words in any language I know that match what I … feel … when I am there." He gave Dash an earnest look. "_Trust_ you, I do. Completely. You are a good man. I would not have asked for your aid otherwise. But I have no way of telling you how that part of my mind works. I do not know myself."

Dash could think of no adequate reply. Finally, he said, "All right. We'll leave it at that. But you're _sure_ this is the real deal where the castle is concerned?"

"I am. Of some things I have total confidence, and I know which things they are. As I know that at some point we must defeat Achmedjan to save your sister. But I cannot explain at this time how I know, or when it will happen, or why it works that way."

"Man, that's gotta be _annoying_."

"You have no idea."

"Huh," Dash said with a shrug, "if that's the way it is, I guess that's the way it is. I'll deal." He looked back at the representation of the castle. "So we come in here. Where do we go from there?"

"I will have to locate your sister."

"By seeing her in your head?"

"Ah … yes. I _believe_ that I will be able to do that once we are past the perimeter of the jamming field. I am depending on it, since much of our plan relies on it. Then you must get her away from the battle."

Dash gave Leo a critical once-over. The smaller man was looking very shabby and stretched-out these last few days, notwithstanding that bit of extra sleep. "Um … not to try to hurt your feelings or anything, but what're you gonna be doing while I'm getting Vi to a safe spot?"

That question got ignored. "You should be able to get her secured outside the boundaries of the jamming field and get back inside to me within twenty seconds. We will then attempt to teleport to an area within striking distance of my brother." He opened a drawer and pulled out an odd, wand-like device some sixty centimeters long. "You will need to hit him with this."

"No problemo, mi amigo." Dash took the wand and tossed it to himself. "Cool. Nice heft. Does it matter where it hits him?"

"It should not. When it contacts him, it will activate. It generates around the target a field of energy that damps all alpha rhythms. It will knock him out long enough for us to remove his weapons, and get him out of his suit and lock him up. After that, it will not matter whether he is conscious or not. The government can take care of him as … as they would any other … criminal."

Dash, concerned for Leonid, asked, "You okay?"

"It is hard. It is a very hard thing." Leonid sniffed and swallowed, wiping his nose on a cuff. "Though I know that he is evil to the core, so evil it frightens me, I all but worshipped him for so many years. He always treated me well, and though it was through his own self-interest, I still … cannot help but think …"

"Yeah. Don't know if I'd be able to go up against Vi if I found out she'd gone bad."

"Oh!" Leonid's head bobbed up instantly, eyes wide in his earnest face. "You will _never_ have to worry about that! Your sister is _good!_ She is a most wonderful … one of the finest … I have never known any other as …" He seemed to realize that he was beginning to babble, raised his hands and let them drop back into his lap. "You need have no concern there."

Dash gave him a calculating look, and a tiny smile flitted across his face. _Heh. Looks like she's got another conquest._ He patted Leo on the back and said, "I don't. I was just using her as an example."

The smaller man nodded.

"So after I whack him with this rod thingy, that'll be that?"

"… Ah … well …" An expression of worry settled on Leo's face; he gave a short sigh of frustration. "That is to say … that should be all of _that_ battle. I think."

"When you say _'that'_ battle, do you mean there will be another one?"

Leo's frown deepened. "Another one? I, uh, don't … can't really … see if it … would be. Maybe … another part of that one?" He balled his hand into a fist and tapped his knee a few times. "No, that doesn't make sense either."

"You don't sound too sure there, pard."

Another sigh. "I am not. It feels that I am missing something. Something important." He stood and brushed his pants off, and then got himself another cup of the curdled, brown sludge he called coffee.

Dash picked up the pot, looked into it and swirled it around. There was hardly any splashing. "Like a little water with your grounds?"

"I need the caffeine."

He sniffed it and made a face. "This stuff would float a bullet."

Leo gave him a vague, one-shoulder shrug in reply. "Perhaps the answer will come to me later. Now I must finish the modifications for our suits and the weaponry we will need." A huge yawn overtook him. He leaned back in a stretch and rubbed his lower back.

"You ask me, I think you oughta get some sleep first."

"No time. Wish I had time, but do not." He took his coffee, walked around to another bench, powered up a high-definition electronic microscope, and got to work on a sub-miniature circuit for the odd, torus-shaped device he'd been constructing.

Dash asked, "What's that thingy?"

"… Hmm?"

"That big, ol' metal doughnut. What is it?"

"Um … a nullifier." He wasn't really paying much attention to Dash.

"Nullifier? Does it go in our suits? What are we nullifying?"

Leo's grunted reply was unintelligible. Shortly his hands adopted that blurred speed they evinced when he was in one of his design frenzies.

Dash watched for several minutes, noting Leo's haggard appearance. _Poor guy looks like he's just about ready for embalming. I hope he can last long enough to finish the mission._

##

Piotr Kreshcheyev kept several dozen plants in his office. He had picked a willing member of the janitorial crew to look after them, one who had something of a green thumb and could keep them at their leafy best. To anyone who knew anything about flora, it was an odd collection, representing a very wide selection of genera from every continent. But Piotr couldn't have told anyone anything useful about them, as plants. He didn't really care much for greenery. They were simply part of his surveillance team.

A wisp of vapor exuded from a climbing vine across the room, catching his eye, and he stopped working on the report he was preparing so he could watch. The swirling mist quickly grew to a column about a meter and a half high. It pulsed once, shimmered with a thousand tiny sparkles of green light, and faded to reveal Dryad standing in its place. She walked over to his desk and took a seat across from him, resting one arm on the polished wood.

"You found her?" he asked.

"No."

"No? Really? I didn't think _that_ very likely."

"Neither did I. None of my friends has seen her – or him – since before the battle."

Piotr sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "So … either they are underground somewhere, or have been inside a building the whole time, or have moved far enough north or south to get away from plants entirely."

"That's about the size of it."

"Damn."

"Yes. I agree."

He glanced her way. "We'll find him. I promise."

"Yes. We will." A hint of iron had crept into her voice. "And we will see to it that he can _never_ harm anyone else, _ever_ again."

Piotr realized what she meant by that. As it typically did, the reference triggered another line of thought. He drew a long breath that ended in a slight choking noise.

Dryad glanced over at him and asked, "Are you feeling well?"

"I'll live," he answered, and swallowed hard. Momentarily, he asked, "You know that old saying about time healing all wounds?"

"I've heard it. I never was much of an advocate of that philosophy."

"Neither am I. For anyone who has been through the sorts of … the experiences we have had … well, it doesn't get easier. Not soon."

She met his eyes. "How do you mean?"

"You know. The ache. The emptiness. The ragged hole in your mind. The skip and stumble when you see or hear something you know she would have enjoyed, and you say to yourself, 'I'll have to tell her about that later.' And then you realize that, no, actually you _won't_ be telling her anything later because …"

She placed two fingers across his lips. "You needn't be so descriptive. I can supply my own pain well enough without any help."

He sighed and rested his elbows on the desk. "Sorry."

She moved to touch his forearm and gave a light squeeze. "Mavra was a wonderful girl. We all miss her. And although I know that cannot compare in any way with what you feel, you know we do care."

"Yes. I do."

She sighed and said, "I sometimes wonder which of us had it worse. You knew she was dying, and you had almost a month to say goodbye. But you also had to watch her waste away." As she spoke, she rose, came around the desk and stood at his side. "On the other hand, that … _monster_ killed Jakob while I was away on a mission. He was dead three days before I knew about it." Her thin hand came to rest on his shoulder. "So many things I had wished to tell him. So much to share." She gave him a quick squeeze and then walked over to stand in front of a colorful bromeliad.

"Going back to the tropics?"

"Yes. I need some time in the rainforest. There is a very old purple-heart in the mountains of Trinidad. She helps me to forget, for a time, what I have lost." She cocked an eye back over her shoulder. "What helps you forget?"

He didn't say anything for a long moment, just staring off at nothing, but finally gave his head a slight shake and answered, "I don't forget. I don't _want_ to forget." He picked up a pen and started doodling on the blotter upon which his keyboard sat, and then said, "She deserves not to be forgotten."

"You are a good man, Piotr. A sad man, but a good one. I think that your faithfulness will be rewarded one day … if you ever decide to allow it." She turned back to the fleshy plant and reached out toward it. Her fingers became indistinct, and the haziness rapidly flowed over her form. With a barely audible tinkling, a shower of green sparks sucked itself into the broad leaves, which seemed to shiver in delight at the touch, and Dryad was gone.


	41. Chapter 41 Realization

Chapter Forty-One

Violet lay on her bed, the covers up to her chin, her fingers laced together behind her head, staring at the ceiling. She'd been in that position for a couple of hours, and was loath to move from the warm spot she'd made under the counterpane. However, the more she reflected on her situation, the less she noticed the cold. Her mind kept tracking over the same territory, but she couldn't seem to put the thoughts to rest.

_What did he really take from me? What is it that makes me the person that I am? For that matter, who am I really? Who is Violet Parr? Just a superhero?_

_Certainly not at the moment. No powers equals no superhero._

_So without my powers, what am I? Just another scared little girl in the 'evil clutches' of a villain? I've rescued my fair share of those. Frankly, those weak-sister types are irritating._

_No, you're much more than that._

_Really? What? A part-time legal aid who dreams about becoming a federal agent, but never really does anything about it? Now, that's impressive. I mean, woo-hoo! Alert the media!_

_Sarcasm isn't going to get you out of this mess._

_It can't hurt._

_You aren't defined by your super powers._

_Aren't I? What have I done of any significance, in the last five years, that wasn't connected with my powers?_

_Are you implying that I am somehow incomplete as a human being without my powers?_

_Sure looks that way, don't it? What else have we got?_

What, indeed?

She turned the thought over for at least the twentieth time. Suppose for the sake of argument that the loss of her powers became permanent, that multiple exposures to Reckoning's draining would simply eliminate them. It wasn't a pleasant idea, but neither was it one she could simply ignore. She never doubted for a moment that she would be rescued – or manage to escape – eventually, so how would she make her way in the world as a normal human? She had a degree in criminology, and several years of experience fighting bad guys. She could get a job with a state-level law-enforcement group, or possibly a Federal outfit. For that matter, it would be simple to get a position with the NSA. She certainly knew all the right people. That had possibilities.

Of course, it wasn't as if her family would kick her out. They loved her, and would take care of her. But … she would no longer be a team member. As one who _needed_ protection rather than _offering_ it, she would be more of a liability than otherwise. That idea left a foul taste in her mouth.

She wanted to be able to get by on her own, to make her own way in the world …

… and that line of thought pulled her up short. _When_, she asked herself, _have you __ever__ gotten by on your own? You've been on Team Incredible, and on the government dole, your entire adult life, such as it is. The government even paid for your college education._

She couldn't remember a single thing she'd done in the last several years that had been entirely, completely, unquestionably her own, and that disgusted her.

Talk about your weak sisters!

In protest, her mind rebounded to the concept of getting her powers back. That would render moot all her cogitations about being a normal girl. She almost had to laugh at that, recalling the many times she had complained to her parents that their family wasn't 'normal'. The definition of that word was, she decided, highly subjective, and she was guilty of confusing it with 'ordinary', a much more mundane concept. It was perfectly 'normal' for _her_ to be able to vanish or to manipulate vast and powerful fields of energy purely by force of will. It was her current predicament that was not normal.

She strongly suspected that Erkki had been draining her on a regular basis, and that the early return of her powers had taken him by surprise, forcing his hand. Now she was determined to stay awake long enough to verify that he was, indeed, visiting her during the night. Perhaps he would forget, or be distracted, or for some other reason miss his 'appointment'. If her invisibility returned, she would go into hiding. The castle was certainly large enough, and her door had no lock. It didn't need one. Where would she go? The many kilometers of cold and barren waste that surrounded them acted as a better jail than the best wall could ever hope to do. But if she could remain hidden from him, if she could stay away from his influence until she got her force fields back … then she would get out of there as fast as possible, and he could squat here in his hidey-hole until the army showed up.

That led her back once more to wondering about Reckoning himself. She'd already made the connection between his 'drain' ability and all the murdered supers. That he hadn't already killed her meant he had other ideas for her. Thinking about _that_ brought on a brief episode of nausea.

She had wondered about that handle of his and his explanation for it. Now she seriously doubted that he'd given her his real name. In fact, the more she thought about it, the surer she was that he wouldn't have. It made her bitterly curious as to what it might actually be.

It was such a shame. Erkki – or whatever his name was – had shown monumental talent as a super, and would have made an excellent agent or team member, if only he hadn't … well, it did no good to speculate on that. He was bad, inside and out, and had committed so many atrocities that there would never be quarter offered, when the authorities caught up with him. She went over all the times she had seen him fight, all the conversations they'd had, and came to the conclusion that most, if not all, of what he had told her was probably a lie.

Except, perhaps, that kiss. The old song was right. _'How can you know he loves you? … it's in his kiss.'_ And it certainly was. No matter how good an actor he was, she had every confidence that he couldn't have faked that. He was smitten, she knew it, and he knew she knew it.

Only …

Only, he _didn't_ know that she knew he was draining her power. That was the sole advantage she held at this point

A momentary bout of self-loathing gripped her when it hit home how close she had come to _really_ falling for him. For that matter, she'd been dangerously close to inviting him into her bed. The queasy feeling came back, and she made a face. She lay there for a bit, wrestling with the ramifications of what might have happened, but then she heard a slight noise, the most minuscule scrape, outside her door. She lay very still, and made her breathing slow and regular. In a few seconds a muted _snap_ echoed in the room and she felt a chill run through her that left a shudder in its wake. Then quiet footfalls faded away down the hall.

She turned and buried her face in the pillow, and long sobs of frustration kept her company until she slept.

##

Helen's head jerked up when the doctor touched her shoulder. She repositioned herself on the small, metal chair and turned bleary eyes his way, rubbing them with both knuckles. He was grinning, which she found irritating. "What is it?"

"Think you like know Mr. Incredible is woke."

Instantly she whirled and snapped to the other side of the room, her haze of sleeplessness banished in the adrenaline rush. Bob's eyes were open, and the ghost of a smile crept over his face when she came into view.

"Hey … Honey."

She placed a careful hand alongside his cheek, tears of relief springing to her eyes. "Hey, yourself."

"How … long?"

"How long have you been out?"

"… Yeah."

"Almost nine days."

"Hoo." He drew a long, slow breath. "Did we … win?"

"Well, we didn't quite lose. We didn't get Achmedjan, if that's what you mean." She smoothed his covers down. "How are _you_ feeling?"

"… Tired."

"I bet."

"What'd … he do … to me?"

"Poisoned you."

"It hurt … like a … son of a gun." He winced and then gave her that tiny smile again. "I should have … ducked."

She leaned over and caught him in a close embrace. "I'm so _glad_ you're back!"

He made a strenuous effort and moved his hand to her knee. "So … am I."

She sat up and clasped his hand with hers. "The doctors say you should make a full recovery."

"That'd … be good." He closed his eyes.

She kissed his forehead and whispered, "I love you." He smiled in response.

The doctor said, "He rest. I call quick if he change. You go now to sleep."

She nodded. "Okay. Sleep sounds good." She let him lead her to the next room, where she curled up on a cot. She was out in less than a minute.


	42. Chapter 42 Escalation

Chapter Forty-Two

"How is head now, Ambassador?"

"It's been worse. I remember one Sunday morning when I was in college. The Saturday night before, I split twenty-three White Russians with a friend. But I think he was only sipping."

Morph had converted himself to the long, couch-like thing in which Ambassador Curtis currently reclined. The shape-shifter modified the upper end so that several small, bulbous extensions gently massaged the man's neck and head. He observed, "You not Russian. Should not drink so much vodka." The 'couch' vibrated slightly as Morph chuckled. "Fatal to foreigners. Is Russia's finest weapon."

Piotr and a CCK doctor came into the room. The doctor checked a couple of readouts and the level of fluid in Adam's IV bag. He leaned in close and said something low to Piotr, and then left the room. The liaison pulled a chair over and set it in front of the Ambassador.

"Can you talk now?"

"Yeah. And I'll be very happy to talk while not in pain. _Very_ happy."

"What was it that the secret police were trying to get out of you?"

"Everything I knew about some invasion they think is about to happen … which amounts to zilch, since their question was the first I heard of it. Not that they believed me." He worked his neck around gingerly. "Morph, that feels wonderful."

"Glad to help. Also your pain killers should begin to work soon."

Piotr asked, "Who is supposed to be invading us?"

"We are, according to them."

"That is very confusing. Our agency has been working very closely with your NSA over the past six weeks. We have certainly heard nothing about an invasion." He considered several of the possible scenarios that might have precipitated such a conviction in the oligarchs. He knew they tended toward paranoia, a result of the many brushfires of discontent they'd had to contend with over the past decade or so. He asked, "Do you think this might have anything to do with that attempt that Colonel Derevenko made on your President?"

"Could be. It would be S.O.P. for our military to beef up the borders after something like that. And I know that they've recently deployed some pretty hefty firepower they had in the skunkworks for a few years, so if your intelligence is any good it could make some of your people upstairs _reeeeeeal_ uncomfortable."

"Yes, I can see that." Piotr nodded in agreement. "And such an increase in force could easily be misconstrued as the precursor to an invasion."

"Well, if the NAU has any invasion plans, they left me out of the loop." He chuckled quietly. "And they _don't_ leave me out of the loop, even if they intend to. I've got some inside people with the Joint Chiefs."

The shadow of a smile passed across Kreshcheyev's face. "Although I _do_ have a few sources of my own, and I _have_ discovered that the Premier ordered all our missiles armed, it would seem that you are ahead of the curve in that respect, Adam."

"We try." He groaned and moved his neck back and forth. "Think I picked up a whiplash in that torture chamber."

Piotr asked thoughtfully, "How did Elastigirl find you?"

"Beats me. Awfully glad she did, though." He laughed and then made a _'that hurt'_ noise. "Unh! Ribs'll take a while to heal I think."

"I am deeply sorry for that. It seems that they worked you over thoroughly."

"Yeah. At least I only lost two teeth 'fore she showed up. It was almost worth it, too. I got t' see some good old-fashioned butt-whooping."

"So she overpowered the guards?"

"In spades."

"Were there many?"

"I don't 'member 'xactly. Five 'r six, I think. An' she c'n really move when she wants to."

"You are slurring your words, Adam. I think the opiates may be taking effect."

The Ambassador made a small, dismissive motion with one hand. "We were out o' there'n no time. I'd bet ya week o' lunches it wudd'n five minutes 'tween th' time she came inta th' room an' when she tossed me inta th' cargo hold o' that plane." He worked one shoulder around before continuing, "O' course, I uz pretty out of it at th' time. But I c'n promise you that I _never_ wan' that lady mad at me!"

Remembering his own recent encounter with Elastigirl, Piotr was quick to concur.

Adam frowned, thought hard, and said, "Hang on. D'you say … all yer missiles uz armed?"

"Yes."

The Ambassador whistled thoughtfully. "Well, izza sure bet my gunnerment knows 'at, too."

"We think they do."

"Gotta do that … do somethin' 'bout that." He wriggled a bit and sighed, "Morph, yer a … fraggin' genius."

"Thank you, Ambassador."

Piotr said, "Adam, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave. I have … something that needs my attention."

Adam's eyes were closed. "Sure. 'S okay."

Kreshcheyev nodded thoughtfully to himself. He watched Morph work for another minute until Adam's slow, regular breathing indicated sleep, then strode briskly to his office. Once there he called two of his operatives in and went over a number of details.

The CCK had enjoyed a measure of success in extracting The Demon's secrets from his erstwhile dacha. Kreshcheyev's men uncovered and deciphered any number of communiqués, several of which concerned Derevenko's recent assault. Also, tellingly, the name of Ivan Bolodnikov came up in a couple of them, and the context surprised them all. It gave Piotr a degree of grim satisfaction to learn that his two most formidable opponents were gunning for each other.

After reviewing and nailing down all the facts, he set to work organizing the notes for the report he intended to give to the oligarchs. If they wanted a war, he would be obliged to support them, but he'd rather not have a war at all. Too many ways to die, and he was already up to his elbows in that sort of thing with Achmedjan. When a war was preventable, when there was no logical reason to wage one, that fact needed to be made clear to those in a decision-making capacity. He opened his word processor and started typing.

##

Lord Tar looked up from the paper in his hand and stared at the man who had brought it to him. That man, though nervous, knew that it contained news that Lord Tar had been waiting on, and he didn't _completely_ fear for his life, as he normally would in this situation. The cyborg was even smiling, albeit rather grimly.

"My assassin has traveled far to escape me, it seems. But it will do him no good."

"Yes, my Lord."

"We will depart immediately."

"Very good, my Lord."

"How many men do you have?"

"I … ? Ah, I believe there are about forty mercenaries in the complex at this time, my Lord."

"Good. We will take them all."

"All …? … yes. Very good, my Lord. I will see to it."

"When we arrive, you will have your men surround the place. Do not let any living thing escape the grounds."

"… Yes, my Lord. … Ah …"

"What?"

"We will … be using standard armaments?"

"I will supply you!" he replied, irritably. "Do not bother me with details now!"

"Yes, my Lord!"

"I will go in and find dear Ivan myself. I do hope he tries to run." The smile stretched to a feral grin. "He should give me good sport before I seize him and crush the life from his foul body."

"Y-y-yes, my Lord."

"We will time our arrival for deepest night. When he awakes from his nightmare, he will find that his reality is much, much worse. Oh, yes, this will be most pleasant. A fine holiday." He made a dismissive gesture. "Be off. See to it."

"Yes, my Lord!"

"And make sure," he added, in a tone that promised a lingering and painful death if crossed, "make _very_ sure that this complex stays clean while we are gone. No dust _any_where. On _any_thing."

"Yes, of course, my Lord!"

Achmedjan turned back to his work. The man made as much haste as he thought prudent in taking his leave of the mad cyborg.

##

Helen finished looking through the short stack of papers that Kreshcheyev had given her. She dropped the last one into the pile on the table, and gave the CCK man a level stare.

"If all this is on the up-and-up," she opined, "we are in _seriously_ deep weeds."

"I am gratified that you think so."

"What have you done about it so far?"

"I presented my report on Achmedjan and his activities to the Premier's second-in-command. He seemed somewhat intrigued by my information, but it was hardly the reaction I was seeking. Even my confirmation that Derevenko – whose whereabouts is still a matter of conjecture – had attacked the NAU President didn't faze him." He looked down and gave his head a slight shake. "They are all wearing blinders where this issue is concerned. They can see only the need for protection."

Tapping the stack of documents with one finger, Helen observed, "Our people don't appear to be doing much better."

"Yes. And that worries me more. If we attack first, it will reduce the number of missiles available to the NAU. If they attack first … well, they have more missiles than we do to begin with. There wouldn't be much left of my country. And Groznyy is a prime target."

Helen's mouth drew into a bleak line. "It's worse than that, Piotr, and it doesn't really matter who shoots first. The clouds of radioactive dust all that bombing would kick up would sweep around the planet. Most of the Earth would be poisoned."

He stared at her for a moment and then asked, "Are you sure of that? I'd heard that there were very few 'dirty' bombs left, and none in the primary batteries."

"That is correct. But even a 'clean' bomb will contaminate millions of cubic meters of air with radioactive daughter products. An isotope doesn't have to have a long half-life to be toxic."

"Ah. I see. Well … to paraphrase your earlier question, what do you intend to do about it?"

She thought for a bit and asked, "Is Adam ready to travel?"

"Eh. He is in a lot of pain as his bones and bruises heal. But he has medication for it. There is no major trauma that would prohibit moving him."

"Good. I want to take him back to North America and talk to the President myself. Maybe I can put to rest all these idiotic rumors."

Piotr said nothing. Helen looked up and asked, "You have reservations with that?"

"Not to sound too cynical, but that _does_ get you out of harm's way."

Helen stood and stretched across the table until her face was centimeters from his. "My husband, my daughter, and my oldest son are still here in your country … in harm's way. If I fail in my mission, my personal safety will be the _least_ of my worries."

He nodded slowly. "Fair enough. That, I can understand." She backed off and he picked up a phone. "I will arrange a transport for you to a neutral country."

"Great. Once I'm back with the NSA I'll get Alan Thomas and we'll go have ourselves a powwow with the Powers That Be. They can't ignore all of us."


	43. Chapter 43 Recognition

Chapter Forty-Three

Most of the men that made up Lord Tar's cadre of servants tended to be rather unimaginative. It didn't do much for one's longevity to get too creative in following the Master's orders. Ergo, Boris Mendev, the servant who had been charged with keeping the current headquarters clean, went about his task methodically and carefully. The Master might not inspect the place immediately upon his return, but he would do so eventually, and Boris didn't waste any of his limited brainpower on wondering what would happen if the rooms weren't cleaned to Lord Tar's satisfaction.

But life has a way of tossing a shoe into the gears, even in such a highly structured environment as the one Boris found himself in. The very day that Lord Tar left, he received a letter from his sister to the effect that their mother had been in an accident and had broken both legs. She would need constant care for a few weeks, and the sister, a single mother of three who worked three jobs to support them, could not do it. Boris would have to.

One of the other servants took pity on him, and promised to get a short-term replacement for him the next day. He knew of a girl who had come to the nearby town recently and was staying with one of his relatives. She did cleaning work, and the family assured him that she did it well. He would have her come out and stand in for Boris so that he could fulfill his familial duties.

##

Boris opened another narrow closet. "Here are the brooms and mops for this level."

"Very well." She looked into the tight space, noting the rolling bucket in the very back. "This is good. I will not have to carry buckets from one floor to another."

"Just so. The Master sees to it that we are well supplied."

"I appreciate that." She turned to him and gave him a warm smile. "And I _really_ appreciate this chance to work. You'll see. I work hard and well."

"That is important. The Master is … very particular about keeping the place clean." He handed her a list of instructions that ran to three pages of close scrawl.

"Ah, me!" she replied after scanning through the list, "This is no problem at all. He cannot possibly be more strict that than my last employer."

"Ran a tight ship, did he?"

"That is one way to put it. I think he was more than a little mad. Everything had to be sparkling clean, all the time. And I was able to meet his expectations, so I see no problems here."

"I am glad to hear it." Boris looked at his watch. "Sadly, I fear I must leave you now. My train departs in ninety minutes and it takes forty to get from here to the station." He was honestly sad to have to leave. Her ice-blue eyes and lustrous blonde hair would add a bright spot to this drab place, and he hated to miss seeing her, especially having only just met her.

"Well, I don't want to make you late." Raisa stuck out her hand. "Good luck on your trip, Gospodin Mendev."

##

Raisa's confidence was wavering badly by the end of the first day. Starting at the top (third aboveground) floor of the converted bunker and working steadily downward, she had made it only to the first sub-level by nine that night. Checking her list again, she noted with frustration that there were yet four levels below her. _Who builds a place like this anyway? It has to be vastly more expensive than putting all the rooms in two or three stories and spreading out to the side! And why make the floors between each level so thick?_ It all seemed very wasteful to her practical mind. But she just sighed and put the list away. There was always tomorrow. And Boris had intimated that the Master wouldn't be back for at least a few days. She would get caught up the next day, and have everything spic and span by the time they returned.

##

The following day did indeed provide her with enough time to complete her tasks. She was able to get all but the lowest level finished by lunch, and looked forward to an early quitting time.

As she took her meal with the other servants, she joined in a little with the conversations. There was a great deal of speculation about where the Master had gone and what he might be doing. Raisa was shocked to learn that he had taken a group of mercenaries with him.

"Mercenaries? What does he need with soldiers?"

The man she'd been chatting with said, "Not my place to ask. Probably not too healthy to be curious about it, either."

"What does he do? Does he work for the Soviet?"

"No, girl," replied an older woman across the table, "he's a … what you might call a free spirit. Does what he wants to. Doesn't have much to do with us." She snorted and took a long drink of beer. "Suits me. He isn't one for much talk. I'm _glad_ to have a staff manager between me and the Master."

"Huh. Rich, I guess?"

"Really rich."

"Must be nice.

After her meal, she went down to the lowest level and found the cleaning supplies. This level had only four rooms, but they were very large, and filled with obscure and arcane pieces of equipment. It gave her a funny feeling, a disquiet she couldn't put a finger on. She knew that this was the Master's personal hobby room or work room or something, and that she'd have to be extra careful not to disturb anything. Maybe that was it. She tried to push the uneasiness to the back of her mind.

She'd finished two of the rooms and was half-done with the third when she spotted a device on one of the tables. She leaned the mop handle against the edge of a workbench and took a few steps toward the odd, boxy thing. It looked familiar. Where had she seen …

She stopped. Sweat immediately popped out across her forehead, and her fingers began to tremble. She edged around to the side so that she could see the other end of the thing …

… Yes. She had last seen this device on Lord Taruz Achmedjan's desk, a few days before he went berserk and tried to kill them all. It was some kind of decoding unit. He never went anywhere without one.

Suddenly all the comments she'd heard from the other servants congealed into a chilling affirmation of her fears.

The trembling spread to the rest of her body. She couldn't seem to draw enough breath, and staggered backwards, bumping into the workbench where she'd propped her broom. It slid sideways, fell, and knocked over a three-socket light stand, which fell on the edge of a circuit board, the incandescent bulbs exploding with a staccato of loud pops. The circuit board flipped up and over and clattered onto the surface plate at the end of the bench where it skidded into a butterfly switch. The switch slid to the edge of the plate, teetered briefly, and fell to the floor, flipping the toggle.

A display at the rear of the bench came to life in a series of red numbers.

All the commotion of the falling and breaking items pushed Raisa right over the edge. She grabbed the hair on both sides of her head and swallowed a scream, screwing her eyes shut.

_Out! Now!_

_I have to get out!_

Speeding to the stairs, she ran up them two and three at a time. No one saw her leave. Down she ran, toward the main gate, but spied a small garage that housed one of the work trucks used on the grounds. Panting heavily, she sprinted over to it and looked in the ignition: no key. Frantically she searched in the cab, and was shortly rewarded when she pulled down the sun visor. She started the truck, jammed it into gear, and peeled out onto the road, slamming the accelerator pedal to the floor. Noting her current heading as west, she could think of no good reason to change course. The more distance she put between her and _anything_ to do with Taruz Achmedjan, the better she liked it.

On the workbench in the lab, the numbers indicated that the calibration routine had finalized. They settled into a time code, blinked four times, and then began counting.

… **12:00:00 ****…**

… **11:59:59 ****…**

… **11:59:58 ****…**

… **11:59:57 ****…**


	44. Chapter 44 Infiltration

Chapter Forty-Four

With the slightest of shimmers, Dash and Leonid popped into existence behind an outcropping of rock several hundred meters to the south of Ivan's castle. Dash looked down at the timepiece embedded in the fabric on his wrist, and made an adjustment. "I've got oh-two-twenty-one hours, local time."

Leo nodded and then activated the viewer in his suit. "The next jump will be to that small garden shed on the other side of the near wall. If my measurements there are favorable, we will 'port to the hedge that runs north-south along the edge of the eastern lawn. That will put us within sight of the door."

##

A medium-range motion-detector activated as soon as they appeared. It lit up an alarm signal on Ivan's control board, and the unit paged him a message that security had been breached. Since he'd just seen Violet off to her room, he was still up and about, and he raced for the control room the instant he got the notification.

##

Dash answered, "Check. Let's go."

Leonid had incorporated the teleportation device into the utility belt of his suit, where it keyed off his mental commands. He gripped Dash's arm and popped them to the next location.

##

Ivan made it to the control room and powered up the monitor system. As he studied the read-outs, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. The numbers weren't possible. While he checked his system diagnostics for errors, replayed the scan tape, and then went over the figures again, the same sequence of thought ran repeatedly through his mind: _Nothing human can cause this!_

##

"How's it coming?"

"Wait, please."

"Can you do it?"

Leonid made shushing motions and ran the calculations again. With a sigh, he looked up at Dash and said, "I do not believe so. He is running the system with a much greater degree of power than I designed for. I think this is as close as we can get without relying on our feet."

"Okay. No prob. I can get us to the door in a real big hurry."

"I know." He bit his lip thoughtfully. "I just hope he hasn't added any traps I have not anticipated."

"You ready?"

"Yes."

Leo hopped on the big super's back and they zipped over to the door.

##

Ivan sprinted all the way to Violet's room, bursting through the door without preamble. Her head jerked up from where she sat brushing out her hair, and she shot to her feet, demanding, "What do you think you're doing, barging in like …?"

Knowing how little time he had available, he didn't waste any breath on explanations. Grabbing her up and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack, he ran straight to the control center.

Violet fumed yelled and smacked at his back the whole way. When at last he set her down beside a wall, she pushed impatiently at her hair to get it out of her face and screamed, "Have you gone totally _bonkers?_ Is _that_ your problem?"

Reckoning's ragged breathing told her that the exertion had nearly winded him. He didn't quite gasp as he announced, "He is here."

"He? What 'he' are you … oh." She got a chill and said, "Achmedjan?"

"Yes. Lord Tar. I have no idea … how he found me … but my monitors have … picked up his trace." He drew a few deep breaths and centered himself. "He is on the grounds now."

"Oh, crap." Her eyes got positively huge.

##

Impatiently, Dash asked, "Why don't I just knock it down?"

Leonid glanced up at him. "You are strong, stronger perhaps than three normal men. But you have not your father's power. This door is solid oak, as thick as a man, and reinforced with bands of iron and bronze. It was designed to withstand a siege engine. The hinge pins alone are nearly three centimeters in diameter." He shook his head doubtfully. "As I said, you are strong. But so is this door."

"So what are you doing?"

"Picking the lock."

Dash looked around Leonid's shoulders at the portal. "I don't see a lock."

"It is internal. Quite an ingenious mechanism. But they used iron in its construction." He had placed a flat object some eight centimeters square on the surface of the door above the lock, and was adjusting a set of dials. "It may be manipulated magnetically." As he said that, there was an echoing _clack_ and the bolt shot back. He leaned hard against the door, and Dash helped him to push it open. He said, "Now is the time for stealth."

##

Violet asked, "What do we do? Run?"

"_We_ will not do anything. _You_ are going to hide."

"Just hide? But won't he …"

He held up a hand. "Wait. Achmedjan does not know you are here. At least, that is my supposition. He may, actually, now that I think about it, but he cannot be sure. All he knows for _sure_ is that I am here."

"How do you know?"

"I … ah … very well. I do not _know_. It is an educated guess. But that makes little difference. He would not be here unless he thought I was here, and you are currently defenseless without your powers. You must stay away from him. Far, far away." He touched three places on the wall and a secret door swung inward. "To live, you must hide."

She peered down the long darkness within and then looked back at Reckoning. "What about you?"

"He has doubtless placed men to watch the castle. If I hide, he will know I am here somewhere, and he will tear the place apart until he finds me. In doing so, he would find you. I cannot allow that to happen."

"But _you_ can't fight him, either! You said so yourself!"

"True. But perhaps I can slow him down long enough for us to escape."

"How?"

"I have placed traps in two of the rooms in the lower levels. Neither one can kill him, I feel sure, but we might get a window of time to leave here."

"What about his men?" She was doing her best to keep the hysteria out of her voice, but the thought of the mad cyborg in close proximity was really getting to her. "You said they'd be outside!"

"I can handle them myself. Achmedjan is the only real worry." He sighed. "If I had some means of flight or if you still had your powers we would try escape first."

"Yeah, if you hadn't drained 'em off, a whole _lot_ of things would be diff…" She stopped when she realized what she'd just said, looking at him wide-eyed as she covered her mouth with a guilty hand.

He stood, frozen, staring at her as shock and panic and sadness pursued each other across his face in rapid succession. This revelation explained much of her behavior over the past two days. Ever since sunset the day before yesterday, when he had felt her powers beginning to return and had siphoned them off again, she had been reserved and quiet and distant. He'd attributed that to her preoccupation with having a taste of her gifts for just a moment, and difficult though it had been he gave her the space he felt she needed. But now … now he knew that any chance he might ever have had with her was gone.

How she must hate him!

Giving his head a resigned shake, he took her by the shoulders _(The poor girl is shivering so! This is my fault! All mine!)_ and guided her into the corridor behind the secret door. "Yes. Much would have been different. But now you must run. Run to the other end of this hallway. Close all the doors behind you. Stay there and be very quiet. If I live, if I can contain The Demon for a time, I will come and get you. If not…" He leaned forward and kissed her cheek tenderly – and she didn't jerk away. "If not, then it was not to be. I am sorry for what I have put you through. You are a much finer woman than even I had known. If there had been another way …"

She took a step toward him and said, "There is always another way, Erkki."

He gazed at her steadily for three heartbeats and then said, "Ivan."

"What?"

"My name is Ivan. Ivan Bolodnikov. Chances are better than even that I will not live through this encounter with The Demon. But … however it turns out … I want you to know my name. My real name."

"Not Erkki?"

"No. I have used many names over the last several years, but not so many that I have forgotten the one I was born with. I am Ivan Stefanovich Bolodnikov, son of Stefan Iliyich Bolodnikov and Amalija Melekhin, supers who were known to the CCK as Golem and Oracle."

The fear she felt turned to something else, and her mouth twisted in response. "Knowing what you've done, how can you expect me to believe _any_thing you say?"

He sighed and turned his eyes away. "I cannot. I do not deserve your trust. In anything." He looked back up into the storm of emotion playing across her exquisite face, and the hurt and anger and betrayal pummeled him as no fist ever could. "But trust or no, you must do what I say now if you wish to live." He gripped her shoulder, turned her around, and pushed her once more into the corridor. "Now run. Hide. Do not let him find you. Your powers will return soon, and you will be able to escape from here, even if he pulls the castle down around us. Which he may." He slid shut the secret panel, and everything went black. Three rapid clicks told her that he had locked her in. Then she heard him walk away.

She smacked the panel repeatedly with the flat of one hand and yelled, "Get back here, you! Don't leave me here!" He made no answer.

After two more equally futile outbursts, Violet faced away from the door, put out her hands to touch both sides of the narrow defile, and walked forward through the impenetrable, echoing gloom.

### ### ### ### ###

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am not normally one to complain, but there hasn't been a review in quite a while, and there are many of you who click in and read this story every day. If you don't mind, a comment or two would be welcome. I'd love to hear some conjecture about how this is going to end ... and it _will _end in just a few more chapters.**

**Thanks!**

**Concolor44**


	45. Chapter 45 Mistakes

Chapter Forty-Five

His fingers flying over the monitor banks, Ivan sweated as he attempted to locate his adversary. He knew The Demon could put on amazing bursts of speed, and that was apparently what he was doing. Five different sensors had tracked him over a vast distance in only a few minutes.

A new one began blinking … this one inside the castle itself! How had he gotten in? It wasn't like Achmedjan to _sneak_ anywhere. He was more inclined to smash his way through an obstacle, and Ivan hadn't heard or felt anything that resembled a door being reduced to kindling.

_If only he would walk past one of the video feeds!_ He tracked The Demon's progress (_slower now … much slower … what is he doing?_) and was eventually rewarded with a glimpse of him … them?

_What the hell?_

There were _two_ of them! And neither one resembled Lord Tar at all! In fact …

Ivan quickly cut the video feed and ran it backward for a replay, stopped it, and zoomed in on the pair.

His brother, Leonid. And Dashiell Parr.

##

When she had gone not quite a hundred careful steps, Violet bumped into the end of the corridor. Feeling around, she quickly located the door handle and pulled it open. To her surprise and joy, a small light source came on when she opened the door, dim but serviceable, that revealed several crates of various sizes. She looked at each in turn, but the writing was all in Russian and they were nailed shut.

The room, as she noted, was about six meters square. A small window of stained glass occupied the center of the far wall near the ceiling, and she could feel a slight draft on her face when she stood under it. That looked promising. One of the larger crates was sitting almost directly beneath it already, so she shoved it over the remaining meter to the wall and then found a smaller one that was light enough for her to work it up on top. She climbed up and found that her face was level with the sill. So far, so good. But the frame was held in place by half-a-dozen large hex-head screws, an obviously modern retrofit, and she didn't have anything with her that could get a grip on them. She sat down on the box with a _huff_, and scowled. After a few moments of dark but silent cursing, she climbed down and started looking for a box she could pry open.

##

Staring at the two supers on his screen, Ivan was, for a moment, terribly confused. Then he saw Leonid point and grasp Dash's forearm, and the pair vanished … and Ivan got even more terribly angry. _So, little brother, is this how it is? After everything I have done for you, you play me false? You had __**sooooo**__ much trouble getting that teleportation device to operate. So many hurdles. So many constraints. You simply __couldn't__ manage to make it work._ _Yes, I see now where your loyalties lie._

Ivan did a speedy but thorough check of all his weapons, disconnected a remote viewer from the control panel, and stalked out of the room, his face a granite wall of determined malice.

Thirty-seven seconds later, the first of six sensors arrayed on the western side of the grounds picked up a large body moving toward the castle at almost sixty klicks.

##

Violet met with a measure of success. The second crate she managed to open contained a simple tool kit, and while there was no wrench that would fit the screws, there _was_ a small pair of pliers. She got three of the screws out and bent that half of the window far enough inward to allow her to squeeze out of it. Several of the small glass panes popped loose from the lead frame and shattered on the stone of the floor.

Once she was sitting on the sill she could lean out and look around. The ground below was a sheer drop of twenty-five or thirty meters, but there was a sort of gutter-and-gargoyle arrangement immediately to her right that looked like it would get her to the roof, which wasn't that far. She went back to the boxes and opened and rummaged until she found a length of stout electrical cable. It wasn't seven-millimeter rappelling line by any means, but it would serve. She made one end fast around the hinges of the door opposite, and made a double-bowline in the other, which she donned as a makeshift bosun's chair. Then she took the middle section and, in only three tries, snagged it securely over the top of the gargoyle. Less than two minutes later, she was standing on the ancient slates and peering across the battlements. _The control room ought to be that way_, she thought. Then she followed that with, _and I wish I'd brought a coat. Bloody cold out here._ She used the snipper part of the pliers to cut the cable free, leaving her with about ten meters. That went around her waist, and she took off across the roof.

In less than a minute, she scooted and climbed and slid her way back to where she thought the control center should be. The edge of the roof there put her only about four meters from the walkway, so she got turned around and dropped her legs over the side. She was lowering herself over the wide gutter when that quiet, warm flush of energy filled her again. Momentarily disoriented, she lost her grip on the edge, and tumbled backward toward the flagstone, bumping her rear painfully. But she could see that she had turned invisible. Moreover, everything she was _wearing_ had vanished as well. Eyes round in wonder, she turned it off and on twice. No, she wasn't hallucinating.

Immediately, she jumped to her feet, pumped one arm in the air and let go with a muted, "Yes!" She glanced around and stepped over to the wall, laid her hand on it, and went invisible. The wall within about thirty centimeters also faded out, leaving a semi-spherical gap in the stone. She grinned hugely and thought, _Awesome! His screwing around with my powers actually __enhanced__ one of them? I guess some good might come of this after all._ She tried drawing in the area of invisibility, as she would one of her force fields, and succeeded in confining the effect to her body. She concentrated, made herself visible, and focused on just her hand and the area around it. The wall very obligingly disappeared again. _Bingo! Oh, this is __too__ cool!_

She tried next to form a field, but hardly got even a fizzle. _Oh, well. One power is better than none, and I bet my other one will come back before too long._ At that point an involuntary shiver reminded her how chilly it was outside so she went over to the door, finding it unlocked. She marched into the control room and over to the consoles to try to get some sense of what was happening. Before too long she noticed a blur whip by on one of the screens. Fiddling with the dials, she zoomed in on the area, and saw … her _brother?_ And somebody else with him! The two figures zipped off the screen, and she plopped down into a chair in shock. Her mind spun out in a whirl of contradictions, but quickly reached a few conclusions and refocused.

_Oh, yes, Ivan, I see the truth now. Just as you say, Lord Tar has invaded. Surely the Demon himself will kill us all if we don't hide. Yes, of course, you have __**only**__ my best interests at heart. _Her eyes narrowed as she gritted her teeth in anger._ Total crap, start to finish. _"Erkki, you lying bastard! If you hurt Dash …" She got her bearings as to where the action was taking place in the castle's lowest level, and sprinted from the room.

##

"Can you see her?"

"… I …" Leo squinted in concentration, trying to focus. "… I cannot. There is too much interference. I know she is here. I can feel her mind. But which way? How far? All I know is that she is now moving. She is not confined."

"How about your brother?"

"He is even less distinct. He must be wearing his suit. I can barely detect him at all."

Dash pointed at the teleportation device on Leo's belt. "And that thing's fritzing out on us, too. Not much to be had in the way of luck, huh?"

"Unfortunately, you are correct. We will have to do this the slow way and hope she can stay out of trouble."

"Where to next, then?"

"Uh … I, um … that way, I think." He pointed roughly west. "We should go to the low levels. That is where he will come."

"Okay, then." Dash pulled his facemask into place; Leo did likewise. They found the northern staircase that led to the stables right above the dungeon and headed down.

##

The cyborg came in through the rear entrance that Dash and Leonid had left so invitingly open. He crossed the room and went into the long hallway, chose a direction at random, and trotted off, anticipating the coming excitement with relish. No one was in the control room to notice when that anteroom's sensor flared for a second time.


	46. Chapter 46 Battle

Chapter Forty-Six

When the castle was new, this place rang with the heavy _thock_ of iron horseshoes striking the hard flags of the floor. The rough voices of handlers and farriers called to one another across the stable, making rude jokes at the expense of the ones who had to clean out the stalls. At that time, three or four hundred years ago, there had _been_ actual stalls here, wooden walls that partitioned the long, low space into usable segments. But the voices were long stilled, the smell of horses not even a memory, and what was left of the stable was hardly recognizable as such. Some of the wood had been removed from time to time, and what was left was in desperately poor repair, the stall walls little more than sagging strips of dry-rotted scrap between the stone columns.

The gloom here was total. Dash and Leo noticed a utility-light-and-extension-cord combo unit on a hook beside the main entrance, but in the interest of remaining unseen had left it alone. They instead switched their helmets over to infrared viewing and skulked into the room.

It was when they were crossing this space that Reckoning's slug hit Dash in the upper arm.

The impact was brutal, and the big super winced in pain, but the suit's amazing fabric was up to the task and so he didn't get perforated. The second slug was on its way, a fifth of a second behind, but Dash wasn't there any more.

He shifted instantly to his accelerated mode and spotted Ivan's kneeling silhouette against a wall. He tried to fling the rod Leo had given him; but Dash was _extremely_ right-handed, to the point that there were few things he could do competently with his left hand. The bullet had bruised his right humerus and crushed some of the deltoid, compromising his ability to raise that arm, much less throw anything. Switching tactics, and gripping the rod with both hands, he headed for Ivan, paralleling the stream of bullets, intending to hit him in a fly-by.

The Soviet super held his machine pistol straight out in front, and to Dash's highly accelerated senses he resembled a statue. But Dash didn't notice the glow surrounding him. When he had closed to within about ten meters, Dash suffered a sudden disorientation. His feet caught on the rough stone of the floor, his legs went out from under him, and he skidded into the wall beside Ivan at about ninety meters per second. The rod hit the wall as well, and shattered into several pieces.

To Leo's eyes, all that had happened was that Dash had vanished, to reappear in a crumpled heap next to Ivan, accompanied by the thrumming report of Ivan's pistol, and the tinkling sounds of the broken rod as the pieces ricocheted here and there. He had maintained a light mental contact with Dash, and his crash into the stone wall abruptly severed the connection. Leo instantly dropped out of sight behind a low foundation and started crawling away as fast as he could.

Ivan called, "Oh, Leonid, dear brother, why don't you come out so we can chat?" There was the slight sound of the machine pistol's drum being exchanged. "After all, we have so much to talk about."

When they first entered the long room, Leo had noted some anachronistic items: a couple of toolboxes, a large metal dumpster, an electric cart, a welding machine, and a dozen or so tall crates, to name several. Now he was racking his brain trying to place each one accurately.

"A good start," continued Ivan, "would be for you to tell me just what the _hell_ you're doing here at all, much less in the company of the oh-so-famous Dash. I never would have thought to make a connection between you and that big oaf. That doesn't seem like your style."

Leo could tell from the changes in the echoes that Ivan was on the move. He fervently wished to keep as many solid objects as he could between them, and scurried over behind one of the larger columns.

Ivan had flicked off his power-drain. He didn't figure Leo could invent his way out of this one, and any techno-tricks he might have prepared wouldn't be affected. He thought he had a pretty good idea of Leo's location, so as soon as he stopped speaking, he did a careful sprint to what he considered a superior position.

But this was one of those rare times when Ivan made a tactical mistake. Leo had gotten himself situated and pulled his own weapon. It was similar to Ivan's machine pistol, but smaller, faster, and lighter. Leo was only a fair shot – he hadn't put in enough time on the firing range to get accurate – but since this weapon fired its eighty-round magazine dry in three seconds, he felt sure he could hit _something_. However, of the four-score rounds that came Ivan's way, only two made contact. One slammed into the back of Ivan's right hand, and the other hit his machine pistol dead square in the feed chamber, knocking it away and rendering it useless.

The lithe super spun and twisted and got behind a column of his own. He shook his hand a few times and tried unsuccessfully to flex the fingers. _Damn. Got some nasty bruises out of that. Guess I'm going left-handed now._ He pulled one of his 11mm semi-autos and called out, "That was a lucky shot, Leo. You won't get another."

Leo didn't reply. He had just realized that the rest of his magazines were hanging from Dash's utility belt. Quickly taking stock, he determined that the current extent of his offensive weaponry included a taser (useless against Ivan's suit), a second neuro-shock rod (worthless since he'd have to get within striking distance to use it, and he seriously doubted that Ivan would allow that), and a few smoke bombs. He pulled out two of that last item, activated them, and tossed one toward where he thought Ivan probably was, and the other toward Dash.

Ivan heard the clatter of the small incendiaries as they hit the floor, and the muffled _flump_ when they ignited. The smoke was a murky brown, and very nearly opaque. But Ivan was familiar with these bombs and he quickly skirted the affected area back around to the right. He knew Leo had to be trying to use it for cover so he could move, and therefore …

There he was, bent low and running. Ivan's slug caught him square in the temple.

The impact bowled Leo over to his left, but he immediately got up and kept running. Another one took him in the leg, which spun him around and knocked him down again, but he was able to roll over behind one of the big crates.

Ivan saw the results of his shots and deduced that Leo had made himself a suit similar to his own. _Very well, brother. We'll do this the hard way, if we must. _ He holstered his pistol and took out the particle-beam weapon, moving quickly around beside the wall toward the smaller man.

Leo was still maybe fifteen meters from where Dash lay. It may as well have been a thousand. His head rang from the bullet's impact, and his leg ached ferociously. He doubted he'd be able to walk straight, much less run, for days. He was still trying to come up with a viable plan for getting out of here when he heard a tiny crunch behind him. He whirled around and found himself staring at the tip of Ivan's particle-beam gun.

Ivan pressed the firing stud. The beam lanced out and splashed on Leo's chest.

But the younger Bolodnikov hadn't been wasting his time when he designed this suit. The particle beam didn't cut through the fabric. It didn't slice the smaller man into char-broiled puppy chow. Instead, the suit seemed to soak it up. The effect lasted only a couple of seconds, only long enough for Ivan to start to suspect that something wasn't right. Then the feedback loop reached the limit of its potential, the suit expelled the built up energy, and it traveled back up the conduit beam to the gun.

The weapon overloaded and detonated. Ivan was blasted backwards through the wall behind him. The explosion shoved Leo violently away a few meters and covered him with a thick layer of splinters and tiny bits of mortar.

It took a minute or so for the dust to subside enough for Leo to see anything. That was just _fine_ with him. He certainly didn't feel like moving, given his recent contusions, and although his suit had saved him from the primary effects of the particle beam, his chest reminded him of a really bad sunburn he'd had a few years back. Quiet settled into the room along with the dust.

Panting, Leo got up heavily and limped awkwardly over to the gaping hole in the wall where Ivan had smashed through. His leg would barely function, and he knew it would be a mass of bruises for weeks. There was rubble everywhere, and Leo started poking around in it. Ivan's body should be here somewhere.

But it wasn't. His frown deepening, Leo expanded his search a bit. He was turning to look back into the corner when something large and heavy smashed into him between his shoulders. He flipped forward and landed on the floor among the riven bits of wood. This time he didn't move.

Ivan was not happy. The explosion had knocked his face mask askew, and he had a long, ugly burn across the lower right portion of his face. His left hand he held close to his chest, careful not to disturb the broken bones. Moving gingerly, and occasionally wincing in pain, he walked slowly over to where he had kicked Leo, sprawled out among the shattered bits of stone and wood. A tap to one of the remote controls on his belt activated a pair of halogen flood lights on the wall, limning the area in jagged patches of blue-white or black.

"My own brother. After all I have done for you. My own _brother!_ What did they offer you? Money? Power? A place of honor in some fancy research group?" He paused, grunting with the effort of chambering a round in one of his 11mm pistols; he had to clamp the pistol under his left arm and use his damaged right hand, and the exertion hurt more than he wanted to admit. "I expect this sort of thing from my enemies, but I cannot believe _you_ would turn on me like that. That kind of betrayal, coming from you, hurts more than the broken bones. But I will make your death quick and painless. I owe you that much." He kicked Leo's helmet off, grunted again in pain, and shook his head. "What I am to do with that damned super over there, I have no idea. Violet would be upset if I killed him, which leaves the option of sticking him in the dungeon somewhere." He drew a bead on Leo's head and continued, "I suppose this is the least I can do for … for my brother."

Leo groaned low in his chest and his eyes flicked unevenly in the direction of Ivan's face.

The pistol held steady, never wavering from its target on the bridge of Leo's nose. The seconds stretched out. Ivan's last words hung in the air around them: _my brother._

The smaller man drew a couple of ragged breaths and groaned again. His eyes closed and his head sank back against the rubble. _What is he waiting for?_

After several more **extremely** tense moments, Ivan let the weapon drop to his side. _He __is__ my brother … the only family I have. _The slight urge of compassion felt odd, but not so odd that he could ignore it._ And he's harmless now._ He took a step closer and said, "You look terrible."

Without trying to move, Leo answered, "… Wh-what?"

"You look like you have one foot in the grave. What have you been doing?"

"… I … don't … don't understand."

"The last time I saw you, you had a pretty good paunch. Now you're thin enough to walk through the rain without getting wet. I'd say you haven't eaten a good meal in weeks. Why?"

Leo thought this a very strange line of questioning, but he was in no position to argue. "Been … working … hard."

"On what? Some way to take me out? And for that matter, how did you even know about this place?"

"No … not you … had to … rescue … Miss Parr …"

"Miss Parr? What do you mean? Rescue her from who? Me?"

Leo paused for breath and continued, "Rescue her … yes … but the fight … is with … The Demon."

Ivan had leaned closer to hear. His brother's voice was low and strained, and he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "With _who?_"

"… Demon …"

"The Demon? You mean Achmedjan? The mob boss?"

" … Yes …"

"How did you know about _him?_"

"Long … story."

"But, Leo! Your being here makes no sense!" The pistol slid back into its holster. "How did you know about Violet?"

"Another … long story."

"This is ridiculous! If you _knew_ about Achmedjan, why didn't you just tell me? We could have fought him together. Why did you have to come here and get in the way and mess everything …"

He never finished that sentence. A heavy three-drawer tool box streaked out of the darkness. One corner of it hit Ivan just below his right hip. He folded over it the wrong way, accompanied by several popping and rending sounds. The force of the blow carried him to the end of the large room where the tool box smashed him into a dumpster, flying apart and scattering wrenches in every direction. When he slid bonelessly to the concrete, he left a large, dark smear on the green and peeling paint.

Lord Tar, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face, stepped into the circle of light.


	47. Chapter 47 Journey

Chapter Forty-Seven

**… 10:48:17 …**

**… 10:48:16 …**

**… 10:48:15 …**

The truck Raisa had 'borrowed' boasted less than a half-tank of fuel, and its kilometers-per-liter rating wasn't the best. She ran it dry about an hour west of the town where her late benefactors lived.

Undeterred, she walked and jogged along the road, sticking out her thumb in the universal plea of the foot-bound, and it wasn't long at all until she secured a lift with a farmer and his three children. She was quite content to ride on the flatbed with the vegetables.

##

When they arrived in the next small city, Raisa dug into her meager resources and purchased a ticket on the next train headed west. She didn't know what she'd do when her money ran out. At this point she didn't really care, so long as she was _nowhere_ near Lord Taruz Achmedjan.

Later, she wheedled a piece of old meat and a couple of stale rolls out of the lady who ran a small concession in the last car. She was happy to clean up around the stall, get rid of the trash, and wash up a few pans in recompense. She and the hawker chatted for quite a while, and got almost chummy over the next few hours.

##

This train contained no 'sleeper' cars. Such luxuries could only be found in the major metropolitan areas, and even then they were usually reserved for the upper crust. Those who wanted to could nod off in the narrow seats. That suited Raisa, who found the thinly-padded chairs rather larger, proportionally, than most adults would. She made a pillow of her shawl and apron, got as comfortable as she could, and drifted off.

At some point in the night the awkward angle of her neck grew painful and woke her. She stretched and looked around blearily, squinting in the feeble illumination given off by the tiny night-lights at either end of the car. No one else was awake. The dirty window gave no hint of what might be passing outside.

_That is not a problem_, she thought, _as long as I am putting distance between me and that insane thing._ She had time for introspection, and began to consider what she would do when she reached Omsk. It was a fairly large city. Surely she could find work there. Perhaps she could get in touch with her mother. If nothing else, she might be able to get her a position with the waste-treatment plant.

Her thoughts continued in this vein until the soft, rocking motion of the train lulled her back to sleep.

##

Many kilometers to the east, in the converted bunker, the skeleton-crew staff had all bedded down.

No one except those assigned a task there ever entered Lord Tar's rooms. It wasn't just a courtesy. They stayed out from fear of what he would do if they didn't. Consequently, when Raisa had disappeared after lunch, they were ready to believe that she had completed her work and gone on home. They had no reason to think otherwise.

In the lab on the lowest level, nothing moved. The mop Raisa had knocked over lay on the floor where it landed, not too far from the butterfly switch. If anyone had been standing in front of the workbench, he might have been able to pick up the faintest of electronic hums from the display that sat near the right end, counting off the seconds.


	48. Chapter 48 Joining

Chapter Forty-Eight

The same commotion that had led Achmedjan to the stables also attracted Violet's attention. Even through and around all the halls and corners in the castle, she recognized the gunfire for what it was, and suffered a chill of anxiety for her brother. Breaking into a sprint, she went invisible as she followed the sounds of battle to their source.

The center section of the long room was flooded with light when she got to the door. Occasional snippets of conversation had guided her, and another burst from someone's machine pistol, and a small explosion. Right before she got to the door she heard a violent crash, and she peeked in cautiously before stepping out of the hall. What she saw froze her blood.

He was there.

The Demon stood in front of her, the floodlights framing his silhouette.

He gave vent to a low, evil laugh and strode across the patch of light toward someone who lay crumpled against …

_Erkki! __He was right! He __wasn't__ lying! But how? _That just confused her more. If Achmedjan was here, where was Dash? She had _seen_ him! He had to be …

As Lord Tar got to an area of debris he paused and glanced down, then gave something a vicious kick. Violet drew in her breath in a tight hiss when she saw an arm flop over, and she ran that way as quickly as stealth would allow. The cyborg chuckled again and walked on toward Ivan, who sprawled in front of a dumpster, his limbs at odd angles.

As soon as Violet got close enough to see his face, she realized the man on the floor wasn't Dash; it was the smaller man who had been with him. He was very pale, his features pinched with pain, but his eyes focused on her. _Wait … is he __looking__ at me?_ He whispered something to her. She frowned and checked herself; yes, she was still invisible. She glanced up at Achmedjan, who had stopped in front of Ivan and was speaking to him in Russian, and then back at the man on the floor. His eyes still tracked hers. She leaned forward and whispered, "How are you seeing me?"

The effort of forming words seemed to be quite a chore for the man. He licked his lips and answered, in English, "Need … help …"

"… Okay." She snuck a peek at Achmedjan again, and then reached down to brush some dirt off the man's face. "What do I need to …"

She made contact with his bare skin.

There was a muted sizzle, as of a static discharge, her fingers adhered to his face, and then Violet's world reeled.

Her perspective split. She was staring into her own face … but doing it with her own eyes at the same time, as if using some sort of bizarre mirror. Her hearing went quadraphonic, and kept wobbling up and down. These effects lasted only a few seconds … and then …

Like two whitewater cataracts crashing together to make a river, their psyches flowed into each other, surprising both of them too much to allow either one to make any effort to resist.

_It was all Violet could do to hang on to her sanity  
__as her life experiences, her needs and desires, her  
__most intimate secrets were laid open for view to this  
__complete stranger …_

**Leo grasped for the ragged scraps of his**  
**mind as they whirled into the vortex of**  
**Violet's consciousness …**

_She tried to cover her nakedness, but the more  
__she pulled the pieces to her, the wilder became  
__the torrent ripping them away …_

**Leo saw a chance, before losing himself**  
**entirely, and used a technique Kitsune had**  
**shown him …**

_Violet whimpered, a low, desperate sound, as  
__mortification more all-encompassing than  
__anything she'd ever imagined gripped her …_

**He found an anchor, a ledge of safety, and**  
**began to collect his scattered parts …**

_[ [ How can I live, knowing that someone  
__else sees all my failures, my shortcomings, my … ] ]_

**[ [ I don't know what you are talking about.**  
**I see no shortcomings! What I can see**  
**is the most amazing, the most wonderful**  
**woman I've ever … ] ]**

_[ [ How are you doing that? ] ]_

**[ [ How am I … wait … we are talking …**  
**communicating … mind to mind … I didn't**  
**know you could do that. ] ]**

_[ [ And I don't know what you mean!  
__I'm not doing anything! ] ]_

**[ [ Wait … here … let me show you … ] ]**

_[ [ What do you … Oh! … But I don't know how to  
__do anything like that! How is that even possible? ] ]_

**[ [ Try it this way ... ] ]**

_[ [ … Yes … Now I can see … ] ]_

**[ [ Turn it so … now shield like this … ] ]**

_[ [ Oh! Ah … wonderful … that is so good!  
__Thank you so much! ] ]_

**[ [ Yes, now you understand. You are very**  
**adept at this! Are you feeling better? ] ]**

_[ [ I think so … just let me … ] ]_

She/they/he blinked and looked up when Achmedjan laughed.

##

The cyborg had picked Ivan up by an arm. He held him in front of his face and shook him until the one working eye the super had left opened and fixed on him.

"Ivan, my boy. It is good to see you." Achmedjan's smile widened noticeably. "It is very good, indeed."

The eye closed and Ivan's head lolled to the side. Achmedjan reached out with his other hand and applied pressure to a certain spot. Ivan made a small, tortured squeak and writhed in agony.

"I would not want you to miss any of this. Believe me when I tell you that it will be most instructive for my enemies to learn what befalls those who cross me." He worked the super-suit's top loose and ripped it from Ivan's frame.

##

Violet was having a great deal of trouble with her adjusted perceptions. She was kneeling in the rubble beside an injured man. She was lying in that same rubble watching herself as she knelt. Simultaneously she was standing/floating in some endless and silvery null-space thing, resting alongside … alongside …

Her mind drew in on itself when she really _saw_, for the first time, the psychic presence beside her. Through some wild duality she couldn't quite grasp, he was there, contained, content and safe and mild and close; and he was unimaginably tall, an awesome, blinding, and unstoppable force of nature whose power blasted all shadow to oblivion.

The otherworldly thing was observing her closely. Instantly, all her fears returned and she cringed at the knowledge she had thrust upon him.

His face changed; the light that had been shining from him damped and went out. He shrank, and by shielding himself he suddenly became only the small figure, without the overtones of earth-shattering power. When he spoke, it was with a quiet voice, sure of itself and yet full of empathy.

**[ [ I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you. ] ]**

_[ [ Who are you? Or maybe, what are you? ] ]_

**[ [ My name is Leonid. ] ]**

_[ [ Oh. Okay … but … You don't have to …  
__I mean, I'm sorry about … all the stuff … in my  
__brain … it must stink like a garbage heap. ] ]_

**[ [ You do not apprehend your own worth,**  
**or how your spirit warms my heart like a soft**  
**summer wind. ] ]**

_[ [ … What are you talking about? ] ]_

**[ [ Let me show you. ] ]**

Violet's point of view shifted again. The sensation wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it was weird beyond her ability to describe. She was seeing herself, but not her body. It was more like … seeing …

_[ [ Ahhhhhhh … ] ]_

He was showing Violet her inner self, her kernel, her quintessence.

_[ [ Oh … oh, my. ] ]_

Viewed through his mind, she nearly gasped in awe. The figure was huge and regal, with a fierce and everlasting beauty that brightened everything around her. The clear, pure light of her being radiated with her quest for justice, her adherence to her code of honor, and her love for her family and friends.

_[ [ How … I don't … but, I'm not … not like that!  
__Really! I mean, I'd like to be, but … ] ]_

His answer was as simple as it was honest.

**[ [ You are to me. ] ]**

_[ [ I … that is, if you really … what I mean to  
__say is … thank you. ] ]_

**[ [ No thanks need be offered. You are**  
**what you are. ] ]**

_[ [ Maybe. But who are you? Besides just  
_'_Leonid'? ] ]_

**[ [ I am brother to the man you know as**  
**Erkki Leinonen. His given name is Ivan**  
**Bolodnikov. ] ]**

_[ [ Oh! Yes! I know. He just told me … ] ]_

**[ [ Miss Parr, not to interrupt, but there is**  
**something we must do. ] ]**

Between one thought and the next, Leo's plan imprinted on her mind.

She/he looked down at the figure in the rubble and carefully pulled a thick torus-shaped object from a hardened and shielded case on his belt. Then he/she stood, made sure that she/he was still invisible, and crept toward the far end of the room where the mad cyborg amused himself by torturing Ivan.

##

Achmedjan had snapped off three of Ivan's fingers. The super was in too much pain to grasp the full bleakness of his situation. Both femurs, his pelvis, and his lower back had broken from the crushing impact between the tool chest and the dumpster. Though he couldn't move anything below his waist, for some reason the misery of the shattered ends of bone grating across each other still came to him with full force. Each time he lost consciousness, the cyborg was able to bring him right back around for more. Ivan's mind, completely clouded with agony, was aware of nothing else.

One of his screams of torment finally woke Dash. The big man sat up, then leaned hard against the wall with a loud groan. Stabs of pain from several quarters told him that he wouldn't be running _anywhere_ for a while. He looked over at the pool of light, squinted, flipped up his infrared-view visor, and said, "What's going on?"

Achmedjan had turned his head toward Dash at the first sound of waking. Seeing Dash sit up, the cyborg dropped Ivan in a heap and strode purposefully in the big super's direction. As he closed the distance, Dash tried to scoot away, but there wasn't really anywhere to go, and his injuries prevented his moving quickly. He stopped in a corner, cringing away from the huge being that came toward him, a massive fist raised in the air, his mouth twisted in a cruel smile.

Achmedjan was drawing back, preparing to smash the life from this piece of filth, when something slipped around his neck with a click. He jerked and spun about, but there was no one there.

Wait …

Instantly Lord Tar made an internal adjustment to his vision system, and a shadowy image of a slim female came into focus. Furious, he tried to activate his disintegrator, but it wouldn't fire. He reached up and touched the thing around his neck, and made to grab it and pull it off, but suddenly he was overcome with a staggering lassitude. He couldn't get his hand to grip, and his arm fell to his side. His legs buckled, he slumped to his knees and then pitched forward onto the hard flagstones, completely enervated.

Violet shimmered into visibility and walked around to stand in front of the fallen criminal. When she spoke, it was not her voice, and Dash stared at her in amazement. "Taruz Achmedjan, you do not belong here. You are a temporal anomaly, an anachronism. And you have meddled quite enough in the affairs of this era."

Ardently did Lord Tar desire to say something, to reach out and crush this woman, but he could not summon up the energy to do it. His eyes grew heavy, his mind dim, and shortly he slipped into unconsciousness.

When Leonid, watching through Violet's eyes, was sure the cybernetic systems were offline, she/he knelt beside him and began the reprogramming sequence. It took several minutes, during which Dash kept asking questions which he/she ignored, but at last she/he was satisfied with his/her work. She/he had Violet back off a few meters and activated the routine.

The Demon's eyes flared bright yellow, his body gave a sudden jerk, and with a soft popping sound, he and the neutralization device vanished. The ashy dust that remained settled slowly to the cold stone floor.


	49. Chapter 49 Power

Chapter Forty-Nine

**… 00:01:20 …**

**… 00:01:19 …**

**… 00:01:18 …**

Leo/Violet turned to Dash and knelt beside him. "Where are you injured?"

"Um … Vi? What's going on? Why do you sound like that?"

"It is an interesting story." He/she paused and closed his/her eyes. When she/he spoke again, it was in Violet's familiar, casual tones. "I don't have even the least _clue_ how it happened. Neither does Leonid. But right now we are _totally_ in the same head."

Dash eased himself into a slightly different position, staring at her all the while. "How's that again?"

"Well, see, I came in on the tail end of things with your fight with Ivan and I _knew_ you were here on the grounds and I _knew_ he'd gone after you but I didn't _see_ the actual fight and then when Achmedjan walked by and kicked Leonid, I thought _he_ was _you_ and I ran over to see if I could help, but then I saw it _wasn't_ you." She gulped a quick breath and grinned. "It was … it was him." Her eyes got distant, and a bit dreamy. Then her entire demeanor changed again. "And so now we have come to this pass. When her fingers contacted my skin, our minds merged. It is a very interesting phenomenon. I can also still see out of my own eyes as I lie over there on the floor. The sensation is quite novel." He/she busied her/himself checking out Dash's injuries. "Please lie still so that I …"

"Hang on … what about your brother? It looked like Achmedjan was taking him apart at the seams over there. I've just got a few cracked bones, nothing life-threatening. Why don't you go see about him first?"

Leo/Violet sighed deeply and said, "Very well." She/he rose and trotted over the to where Ivan lay piled in a heap.

_[ [ You've been in contact with him, haven't you? ] ]_

There was a short glitch in communication. Leo's mind shield seemed to Violet to be flickering on and off rapidly, as if he were very agitated. But shortly he answered.

**[ [ Not exactly. I have been trying to. There**  
**is little left to contact. ] ]**

_[ [ Oh. I'm … really sorry. ] ]_

A welter of images raced through her mind: Ivan in the caves; Ivan 'rescuing' her and Trouble; Ivan driving them toward the dacha; Ivan swimming with her across his lake, and all the subsequent tension that caused; Ivan kissing her; his face when he realized that she knew what was going on. Leo's discomfort with that train of thought was not lost on Violet. She gave him the equivalent of a pat on the back and sent,

_[ [ Things were … complicated. ] ]_

**[ [ You were fond of him. ] ]**

_[ [ In a way. You could say without exaggeration  
__that he's very different from anyone I'd ever  
__dated before. ] ]_

She grew quiet as he/they/she knelt beside the shattered man. Leo/Violet put out a hand to lightly brush Ivan's forehead, and the connection firmed up. The girl's psyche recoiled from the intense pain. She saw how Leo was shielding himself from most of it, and copied him as best she could.

**[ [ Brother? Ivan, can you hear me? ] ]**

There was the ghost of a whimper in response.

Violet looked closer in amazement.

_[ [ Hey! I can see his insides! ] ]_

**[ [ What? How do you mean? ] ]**

_[ [ Look … see that? It's his nervous system.  
__See the pathways? The broken places are dark,  
__and the places that hurt are bright and have that  
__yellow cast. ] ]_

Leo fitted his mind more closely with hers. She welcomed the mental embrace and made room for him.

**[ [ Yes. I can see. Amazing. ] ]**

With Violet along for the ride, he reached out telepathically and eased himself into Ivan's mind. The pain was nearly overwhelming.

**[ [ Violet, I need your help here. ] ]**

_[ [ What can I do? ] ]_

**[ [ I do not know how you manipulate your force**  
**fields, or how you generate energy, but I think**  
**that if you try, you might be able to block the**  
**pathways of pain. ] ]**

_[ [ I'll be happy to give it a shot, but I  
__don't have my force fields back.  
__You'll have to show me how. ] ]_

**[ [ The field itself is not important. Control**  
**over the energy is what I need. ] ]**

_[ [ Let's do it. ] ]_

They worked together for a few seconds until they found the key. One by one at first, and then more quickly as Violet gained confidence, she suppressed the frantic signals and the agony abated. Soon, Ivan was able to comprehend something apart from the pain. He posed them a question.

[ [ why - did you - do that? ] ]

**[ [ Why would I not? You were suffering. ] ]**

[ [ but - I tried to kill you. ] ]

**[ [ And then you stayed your hand. ] ]**

[ [ I betrayed - Violet. ] ]

**[ [ Yes, you did. But you did truly care for**  
**her. And I think that recently you learned**  
**the importance of speaking the truth. ] ]**

[ [ you know - I am dying. ] ]

**[ [ Yes. I can sense that. Your body is**  
**gravely damaged. ] ]**

[ [ thank you -for taking - my pain. ] ]

**[ [ Violet is the one who did that. ] ]**

[ [ Violet - I am so very - sorry - for what I did. ] ]

_[ [ I know. ] ]_

[ [ I wish - I could - make it up to you. ] ]

_[ [ I think you already have. ] ]_

[ [ but - how? ] ]

_[ [ You enhanced my powers. I can extend  
__invisibility to my surroundings now. ] ]_

[ [ I am - glad - for - you - ] ]

_[ [ Ivan? Wait! Don't go yet! ] ]_

[ [ - sorry - ] ]

Violet abruptly lost contact. She tried to force her way back into his mind, but she'd had precious little practice at this technique. Her thrusts slipped past or around or beyond, but never quite got through, as if a slick barrier had formed, separating them.

_[ [ Leo, help me here! I can't hear him! ] ]_

But Leo seemed preoccupied. She couldn't quite determine what he was doing.

_[ [ Are you trying to get through to him? I can't. ] ]_

Leo's mental outline became hazy. She could feel a huge draw of power from somewhere as it rushed through her, leaving her dizzy and disoriented.

Several meters away, Leo's body twitched. The eyes flew open as shock and pain raced across his face. Then his head fell back to the floor and he went limp.

Frustrated, Violet turned her attention back to the glowing schematic of Ivan's nervous system, watching for … well, she didn't know _what_ to look for, so she couldn't very well watch for anything specific. But then Leo finally said something.

**[ [ Ivan? Brother? ] ]**

He got no apparent response. Once more he called, and then again.

For reasons she didn't fell feel like exploring just then, Violet very much wanted to hear what else Ivan might have to say.

_[ [ Are you getting anything at all? ] ]_

**[ [ No. I can't … ] ]**

_[ [ … Leo … ] ]_

**[ [ What? ] ]**

_[ [ The lights are going out. ] ]_

In small groups and systems, the neural network faded, beginning in the peripheral areas and moving inward. They watched together as the rest of it quickly shut down. Violet felt that odd energy surge again, but still couldn't make out where it was going or whether it was accomplishing anything. Aloud, she said, "What was that?"

But Leo either didn't hear her or didn't know how to answer. Presently, she/he moved his/her hand down from Ivan's forehead and closed the one open eye. The entire exchange had taken only seconds.

From across the room, Dash heard nothing but incoherent mumbling. He saw Violet hug herself and rock back and forth.

"What? What's the deal?"

He/she screwed her/his eyes tightly shut and shuddered. Then he/she said, "That … was difficult."

Dash asked, "What do you mean?"

"His … he … his body … did not survive."

"Oh. … I, um … I see."

Shaking her/his head as if to fling something from it, Leo/Violet came back over to Dash and started checking his injuries. "Let me examine you now. I know at least that _your_ body is reparable."

"You gonna be okay?"

"Eventually. Please lie still."

"It sounds so weird to hear that voice coming out of your …" He frowned and quickly glanced around. "Did you feel that?"

Beyond the pool of light, a wrench fell off of something and clattered to the ground. Tiny shifting noises came from some of the rubble as it settled a bit. Leo/Violet concentrated briefly and then nodded. "A tremor. But this area is seismically dormant."

"Wonder what it was then. _Ow!_ Dammit, that's _it_ already! _That's_ the broke part!"

"I beg your pardon. I have not had a great deal of formal training."

"Well, okay, then. I'll try to hold still if you'll try not to break anything off."

Violet/Leo sniffed and used a sleeve to scrub the tears from his/her eyes. Dash's face twisted in sympathy. He reached up with his unbroken hand and patted her/his arm. "I'm sorry. I know that wasn't how you really wanted this to turn out."

"Well … no. It is not. But truthfully, if justice was to be served, I could not see a way out of this predicament. The Soviet would not have hesitated to execute him. He did, after all, kill a score of their supers. But at least he got a chance to apologize." She/he sniffled again and wiped his/her nose; then she/he straightened up and became all business. "Now let me see to those broken bones of yours."

##

**- Detonation plus 00:11 -**

It was a few minutes past midnight, local time, when Anatoly Turchin, the Premier of the Union of Soviet States, was roused from sleep to learn that a city in of one of his rural provinces had been obliterated by a nuclear attack. The Soviet Air Patrol was scrambled, and every base that had been teetering on High Notice for over a week went directly to Red Alert. Each missile in the Soviet arsenal was primed and hot.

The Premier called a council of the oligarchs and the leaders of the military, and started grilling everyone. From where did this attack come? How was the bomb delivered? How big was it? How many dead? Who was behind it? And, most importantly, _how_ in the name of all the hells there might be did it get past their defenses without tripping a _single_ radar signal?

##

Violet/Leo hadn't been able to do a lot with Dash's injuries, and decided to see if they could find Ivan's stock of medical supplies. But first, they had to make contact with someone in authority.

Once he/they/she got to the control room, it didn't take Leo/Violet long to find and disable the jamming device. Her/his next act was to put in a call to the CCK on their headquarters' frequency. The tech on duty picked up at once, but wasn't able to do much for them. All of the super teams were out on a special mission. He did get the duty officer on the line for them, although she wasn't any more help than the tech. She knew only that all available supers had been routed to an emergency to the east; she didn't know the details of the emergency yet; and they had only a skeleton crew at the headquarters.

_[ [ Isn't it kind of unusual to have all the supers  
__going on the same mission? ] ]_

**[ [ Unusual? How would I know what is or**  
**is not unusual for the CCK? ] ]**

He/she left the channel open as a beacon and _strongly_ encouraged the duty officer to send someone after them with all due haste. She told Violet/Leo that she would do what she could, but that as long as the security alert was in effect they would be short-handed. Leo/Violet made sure that the officer knew they had serious injuries and would need transport. Then she/he scrounged up a rudimentary medical kit and ran back to the stables.

When he/she got back to Dash's side, the big super observed, "Y'know, Leo, I've been watching and you haven't so much as budged. You don't look so good. Are you all right? You sure you don't have some internal injuries or something?"

Leo/Violet frowned in concentration for several seconds and then heaved a sigh. "That would depend upon your definition of 'all right'. Apart from a few cracked ribs, I appear to have sustained little in the way of really serious injury, but …"

"But what?"

Violet chimed in, "But he's been driving himself beyond all reason, that's what!"

_[ [ You worked like a damned fool, pushing twenty-hour  
__days and then plane-walking instead of sleeping. ] ]_

**[ [ Did I have a choice? You know we were**  
**barely in time to rectify the situation as it was.**  
**Sleep was not an option. ] ]**

_[ [ And what if you don't recover? ] ]_

**[ [ I very much doubt that my recovery is an**  
**issue. It is true that I am exhausted, but that**  
**is being corrected. ] ]**

He/she pointed at Leo's body and stated, gently, "I am sleeping _now_."

Then, from Dash's perspective, Violet/Leo went quiet and still for a few seconds. She/he sighed and blinked several times. "Yes, Leo, you're right, I can see that. And I'm sorry. You didn't have any choice; and I _am_ grateful."

"Are, um … you two feeling all right?"

Leo's voice again. "Oh, yes! In this body we are quite well. Miss Parr is …" He/she trailed off for a second and then half a grin crept across her/his face. "Very well, have it your way. _Violet_ is in exceptionally fine condition. Frankly, I have never in my life felt as light and energetic as I do at this moment. I am inspired by this experience to get my own body into shape, as I doubt Miss – sorry, _Violet_ – would appreciate my staying in this one for too long."

"Well, uh …" Dash frowned again. "How are you gonna … you know … get separated again?"

Leo/Violet gazed at him for the space of a few breaths and shook her/his head. "Beats me. Right now we don't know. Leo's right, though, we can both see out of his eyes over there on the floor. But he says he knows somebody who can straighten this out, if it gets to be an issue."

Violet/Leo finished dressing Dash's injuries as well as he/she could under the circumstances, and then went over to look at Leo's body. She/he soon saw that although he had no gaping wounds, he had sprained several joints, he would be a mass of bruises for the near future, there were indeed some broken ribs, and his reserves of energy were entirely depleted. "I think we will have to put my body in a bed and let it heal in its own time."

Dash called, "Hey, Vi, howsabout whipping up a field to carry me to a cozier part of the castle? This floor is gettin' cold."

Chagrined, she/he admitted that her force fields were still on the fritz. "I'll have to rig up something to move you with. A travois thingy, maybe. It'll have to be _stout_ to hold _you_."

"Ha. Very ha."

Leo suggested that perhaps now that the jamming field was out of commission, he/she might be able to repair the teleportation device. She/he pulled it out and examined it and determined that it should be relatively easy to fix, if he could find the right tools. "In the meantime, though, I believe we should do as your brother suggests and move him – and me – to a warmer location. It is quite chill in this room."

##

It took Violet/Leo the better part of half an hour to get Dash moved upstairs to the bed she'd slept in her first couple of nights in the castle, and the journey was neither smooth nor pleasant. Despite his remarkably robust physique, Dash was pale and sweating by the time she/he had him arranged and tucked in. He/she got as many of the painkillers down his gullet as she/he thought advisable, and went back after Leo's body, the travois riding one shoulder. During all this, they chatted constantly. Violet had never before found it so easy to open up to someone. Leo's presence in her mind was the most sovereign of comforts.

_[ [ It's so warm and nice … like snuggling together  
__in a thick blanket … beside a lovely fire on a brisk  
__autumn evening … while drinking a big mug of the  
__best hot cocoa in the world. ] ]_

**[ [ Thank you. I am most flattered. ] ]**

_[ [ Huh? You weren't supposed to hear that! ] ]_

**[ [ I apologize. I was not eavesdropping. ] ]**

_[ [ But … How'd you pick it up, then? ] ]_

**[ [ You were broadcasting. ] ]**

_[ [ … Really? ] ]_

**[ [ Indeed. It is fascinating how easily you**  
**have learned the techniques. ] ]**

_[ [ I'm not trying to, honest! I don't even know  
__what I'm doing! ] ]_

**[ [ Yes, I can sense that. Your nascent**  
**mental power is one of the more**  
**outstanding things about you that make**  
**you so intriguing. Among quite a few others. ] ]**

A blush crept up her cheeks. She did not reply.

When "they" got back to the spot where Leo's body lay, he/she unfolded the travois and positioned it on the floor beside him. It was while she/he was moving Leo over onto it that the second flush of energy filled her/him … but this time was fundamentally different.

There was nothing quiet or subtle about this experience. Suddenly she felt light, and then her skin seemed to tighten, as if swelling with internal pressure.

**[ [ What is happening? ] ]**

_[ [ … It's … my power … coming … back … ] ]_

**[ [ But you are in distress! This pain**  
**cannot be normal! ] ]**

_[ [ No … it's not … it … hurts … ] ]_

Leo did his best to examine what was happening, but could get no perspective. The pain was bad and getting worse rapidly. Violet/Leo slumped to the floor and then splayed out, limbs rigid with the energy she/he was producing. His/her face contorted into a rictus of suffering.

**[ [ How do we bleed this off? You cannot**  
**sustain this state for long! ] ]**

_[ [ … I … don't … know … ] ]_

Leo thought hard for a couple of seconds, and then stilled his mind and slipped into that silvery Otherwhere. He 'turned' and looked at Violet. From this vantage point, she glowed like a small star. Concentrating, he suppressed their surroundings, focusing on her nervous system as she had done earlier with Ivan … and nearly panicked. If he'd had hackles in this state, they would have stood erect.

**[ [ Violet! You must release the energy!**  
**It will burn you up if you do not! ] ]**

_[ [ But … how? … ] ]_

**[ [ Use it! Form a shield, a large one.**  
**Surround us in a force bubble. ] ]**

She did so. The spherical shield sprang into being, nearly a meter thick, ferociously radiating through the entire electromagnetic spectrum. Lines and bands and spots and starbursts of energy played across its surface. Static discharges began arcing to all the nearby objects, blowing two of the crates to charred splinters.

_[ [ It still … hurts … but not … as bad … ] ]_

**[ [ You know how to focus your fields into**  
**shapes. I need you to do that. Refocus this**  
**one now. ] ]**

_[ [ Where? ] ]_

**[ [ Form it into a tight cylinder, as tight as**  
**you can get it, and aim it straight up. ] ]**

She did so, the coruscating energy field drilling a neat hole all the way through the castle and out into the cold air.

_[ [ … It … still … ] ]_

**[ [ Yes, I know. You are doing well. Now**  
**extend it out as far as you can. ] ]**

She did so, pushing the far end of the cylinder up, up, a hundred meters … a hundred and fifty … two hundred …

… three hundred …

...

… four hundred …

...

… six hundred …

...

...

… one thousand …

...

...

… fifteen hundred …

##

Outside, the forty-odd men that Achmedjan had stationed around the castle waited nervously. The trip here had fairly _defined_ harrowing, with their Master's temper flaring occasionally, interspersed with random episodes of brittle good humor. Some of them had come very close to death during the journey, and were well aware of that fact.

The explosion and gunfire had set them all on edge. They suspected very strongly that no conventional weapon could seriously harm the Master. It was not loyalty, but the fear of him and the retribution he would deal out for betrayal that kept them where they were.

And now this: some … _thing_ burst out of the top of the castle, a spire of energy that lit up the surrounding countryside, throwing every object into a relief of stark, pulsing brilliance and deepest shadow. Its top end climbed into the darkness, to the zenith and out of sight.

They knew the Master had taken no weapons inside with him. They knew of his strength, his durability, and his powers of disintegration; this display was like nothing they'd ever seen. The spire could not be his.

It stood there, roiling with power, blinding them, mocking them. By ones and twos, the men contacted each other. In pairs and squads they made their way back to the vehicles, got in, and sped off into the night, pushing the heavy diesel engines for every erg of power they could get.

##

Leo nodded to himself. He could feel the pain lessening.

**[ [ Keep pushing! You are mastering the**  
**energy. ] ]**

On and on the cylinder stretched … two kilometers … three … five …

_[ [ I don't believe this is happening! ] ]_

**[ [ If I recall, you did say that your**  
**invisibility power had been enhanced.**  
**Obviously the same may be said for your**  
**force fields. ] ]**

_[ [ Oh, you think? ] ]_

**[ [ Your pain is nearly gone. ] ]**

_[ [ Yeah. But what's gonna happen when I  
__turn this thing off? ] ]_

**[ [ Let us get your system in equilibrium**  
**first, and worry about that later. ] ]**

When the cylinder reached about eight kilometers in length, Violet could no longer feel any pain. She tapped it out another three or four, just to see if she could, then began to bring it back down.

_[ [ After all, I don't want to knock down any  
__satellites. ] ]_

**[ [ We are too far north to be a danger to**  
**any in geosynchronous orbit. ] ]**

_[ [ I was making a joke, Leo. ] ]_

**[ [ Yes, I know. ] ]**

Slowly, slowly she shrank the cylinder of force, pulling it down and in, drawing the energies together, knitting them in new ways, imposing her will on the wild power.

_[ [ What's with all the colors? That's just weird. ] ]_

**[ [ I would guess that the energy matrix has**  
**changed. What is the usual composition of**  
**your field? ] ]**

_[ [ Um, well … according to the scientific types at  
__the NSA, it's actually a kind of two-layered,  
__single-poled artificial gravity. The fields face each  
__other and cancel out when the streams collide.  
__Only, it's not really gravity.  
__Something like, but not exactly. ] ]_

**[ [ But you could already polarize the fields**  
**to various frequencies of light. Do you**  
**know how you do it? ] ]**

_[ [ You sound just like that physicist guy, Dr. Mathis.  
__No, I don't. I don't know how I make the fields  
__in the first place. It's a reflex, like my heartbeat.  
__To change the polarity, I just think about it a little differently.  
__It took me a long time to figure out that I could do it,  
__and even longer to get any kind of control. ] ]_

**[ [ Just so. Your system produces energy.**  
**Before today, it had a resting state, if we**  
**may call it that, in the form of a graviton-**  
**array analog. But the fact remains that**  
**your body makes it. Apparently you**  
**are now producing more, and in various**  
**additional forms. ] ]**

_[ [ Yeah, a lot more! This is totally weird.  
__But … okay. I understand.  
__So it's just a matter of regaining control? ] ]_

**[ [ Possibly. I am curious to see what other**  
**sorts of energy types you can manifest. ] ]**

_[ [ Me, too. And I'm reeeeaal curious about that  
__whole distance thing. That blew me away! ] ]_

**[ [ How do you determine your range? ] ]**

_[ [ Feedback. Like, you can touch your nose with  
__your finger even if your eyes are closed.  
__You feel where your hand is.  
__I can feel where the edges of the fields are. ] ]_

**[ [ And your area of influence seems**  
**to have increased almost two orders of**  
**magnitude. You did not reach your limit. ] ]**

_[ [ No, I didn't. I'll have to do a few tests later,  
__and find out just what the heck my limits are now. ] ]_

**[ [ That will be an interesting experiment. ] ]**

_[ [ The field's coming in. It's back under the roof. ] ]_

**[ [ And you still have your energy flow**  
**under control. ] ]**

_[ [ Right you are.  
__Let me just tie up a loose end or two here … ] ]_

Leo slid back out of the Otherwhere, his mind snuggling up against Violet's. She manipulated her field, altering its shape to that of a large overstuffed chair. She/he sat down on the 'chair' and then picked up Leo's body with another sparkling field, laying it gently across her lap. With a quirk of a smile, she toyed with the field briefly, and then the two of them floated out of the room and up the stairs on a classic French Provincial divan.


	50. Chapter 50 Launch

Chapter Fifty

**- Detonation plus 00:47 -**

In one of the outlying missile bases near the Arctic Circle, not far west of Tiksi, Major Viktor Temke was going over the report that had just come in concerning the attack. So far, details were sketchy, but the bombing had all the earmarks of a black op. _Hmm. No information given about how the thing was delivered. Estimated force of close to a megaton, so it would be too big to sneak in all in one piece. Somebody had to have been working for a __while__ on putting it together. Either that, or those lousy North Americans have developed some kind of cloaking system for their missiles. That would be __**very**__ bad._ He scanned through the single page of damage statistics, and was in the process of flipping to the next page when one name caught and held his eye.

_No! It __can't__ be! Please, merciful God, let it not be!_

He ran to the map room and quickly found the hanging file he wanted. Locating that town's name on the map, he compared it with the grid coordinates given in the report. They matched exactly. His shoulders sagged, tears blurred his vision, and he collapsed against the file cabinet.

_Marisa! Ankita! Papa!_

With frantic fear, he sprinted to the communications hub and accessed a secure phone link. Unsteady fingers punched in the number and he waited, hoping against hope for a ring, a busy signal, something.

Nothing. Nothing but static. He dropped the handset to the desk and crumpled to the floor.

Why? Why _there?_ What possible reason could anyone have for bombing that town? The area had no military importance whatsoever. It wasn't even close to a major population center. That was the reason he'd settled them there. And now it was gone. His home, along with his wife, his daughter, and his father … gone. Everything and everyone he had ever loved now floated eastward as radioactive dust.

His grief quickly grew to rage. So. Obviously all they had speculated about the North American military buildup was true. Now they had struck. And they thought they could take his life, all he held dear, and destroy it? That gambit deserved an answer. He knew what he had to do.

He went to his E.O.'s office, where he found the man going over the same report he had studied. Pulling his side arm, Viktor knocked him cold and took from around his neck a peculiar key, twin to the one he wore. Then he marched straight to the control room. At gunpoint he ordered the two guards out and locked the heavy steel door behind them. Then, blinking away his tears, he put both keys in their slots, input the firing codes, gave the keys a quarter-turn, and pressed the large, red button between them.

The ground shuddered and rocked for nearly a minute as, one by one, the fifteen silos gave birth to their deadly children. Then, after the last echoes had faded into the sky, the control room reverberated with the sound of a single gunshot.

##

**- Detonation plus 00:48 -**

Violet/Leo got Leo's insensate body tucked in just down the hall from Dash's room. Ivan had supplied the place with enough portable heating units that they could be comfortable. After seeing to their needs, she/he headed back to the control room to see what kind of damage the force beam had done to the infrastructure.

There was a message light blinking impatiently on the CCK frequency. He/she tapped the channel button and listened.

"General Red Alert! General Red Alert! All available supers report to these coordinates immediately!" The speaker rattled off a series of numbers, and then repeated herself. "There has been a nuclear detonation inside the southern border. Radiation precautions will be necessary. Hostilities are imminent." The message paused, then looped back to the beginning.

_[ [ Leo? ] ]_

**[ [ Yes? ] ]**

_[ [ How soon can you get that teleporter fixed? ] ]_

**[ [ That is a good question. I should not**  
**need much beyond some fuses, a couple**  
**of transistors, and a soldering gun. ] ]**

Violet ran over to the wall and touched the places Ivan had touched. The secret panel slid back. She jumped in and trotted down it.

_[ [ The only kind of stuff like that I know of is at the  
__end of this hall. Let's hope it's the right stuff. ] ]_

##

**- Detonation plus 00:59 -**

President Brandt typically ate a very light supper. He was a great fan of fresh spinach, and had a salad where it featured prominently at least once a day. While not a practicing vegan, he was careful to limit his intake of fats and simple carbohydrates, and so his diet tended heavily toward vegetables and fish. If he indulged in dessert, it would be fresh fruit, such as the strawberries he was currently spearing with his fork while he read the report Mrs. Incredible had given him.

"You're sure about Achmedjan's connection with Derevenko?"

She finished chewing her last bite and swallowed. "Positive. We got direct confirmation from his records." She paused for a long drink from her glass of iced tea and continued, "The Soviet didn't know squat about what he was up to."

Helen, due to her rigorous schedule and intense training, usually took in some three thousand calories a day, nor was she all that choosy about diet. But the hundreds of ways this mission could go south had occupied her mind during the trip here. She'd neglected her previous meal and so was helping herself to most of the dishes available. She cut off another chunk of roast and popped it into her mouth.

"And yet here sits Adam, quite a bit the worse for wear." Joseph's eyes flicked back and forth between him and Alan Thomas, the other man at the table. "What am I to do with a regime that treats my ambassador this way?"

"That's not my realm, Sir. I just want you to know all the facts."

"If I may," said Adam, raising a hand, "I'd consider these to be special circumstances. Details of what happened here at the Manse were awfully sketchy in the USS. I knew as much as anyone, and more than most, and it wasn't much. All they heard was that a rumor of some kind of attack was being floated in the media. The actual _facts_ they had were limited to what they could see of our border buildup. You know, the thing is that we are _still_ the only government on Earth that has used nuclear weapons on another nation. That piece of information was thrown in my face several times. They were completely convinced we were planning an attack."

"So you're saying they were edgy enough about our intentions to violate international protocol by arresting the entire embassy?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Neither Adam nor Alan was in the mood for supper. The one was still too sore to have much appetite, and the other had eaten on the plane. Alan offered, "Sir, I think the quickest way to get their attention might be through the CCK. We have a good relationship with them now, and trust each other … eh, about as well as two such groups can."

Synapse had an appetite typical for an active girl of nineteen. She was in the middle of her second piece of peach cobbler when the fork paused in front of her lips. Joseph being an observant sort, he caught her hesitation and asked, "Something up?"

She concentrated for another long moment, then her eyes flew wide, the pupils contracting to thin lines. "NORAD says we got incoming!"

Joseph was out of his chair and sprinting for the war room before the echoes died, Helen and Synapse right on his heels.

##

A lieutenant hurried up to the door of the inner sanctum and paused in front of one of the guards. That worthy said, "Well?"

"A message, for the Premier."

The guard held his hand out and took the envelope, then slipped inside the room, walking swiftly toward the group that stood in a tense knot at its center.

The Premier was speaking. "And you are absolutely _**sure**_ it was detonated underground?"

"Positive, Excellency. My response team is quite certain. The device was at the bottom of a decommissioned bunker. If it hadn't been, the damage would have been vastly more wide-spread. As it was, we lost that entire town and many hectares of the surroundings. But it could have been much, much worse. It was a powerful device."

"So it was _**not**_ a North American bomb?"

"I didn't say that. We have no way to tell where it came from. What I said was that it wasn't from their _**military**_. All of their enriched-uranium ordnance was switched over to plutonium two years ago so they could use the old warheads in their power plants. This bomb was uranium based. It is very simple to determine by studying the types of daughter isotopes the explosion leaves behind."

"I'll have to trust your judgment on that."

Surrounded by his military leaders, Anatoly Turchin was living the nightmare he'd dreaded for years. He looked up when the guard came close. The man bowed and held out the envelope. Turchin had it open in a trice, and what he read chased the rest of the color from his face.

"Palkin!"

The general addressed jerked up and barked, "Sir!"

"Did you authorize a strike?"

"What? No! What strike?"

"Your base at Tiksi just launched."

"Impossible!"

"I will ask you once more not to use that word. It is a dangerous way to think, that something cannot happen simply because you cannot imagine it to be. The launch is real. The missiles are on their way." He passed the note to the general.

Another officer asked, "Have there been more attacks? That could explain …"

General Palkin cut him off. "Don't be ridiculous. We would have heard." He dropped the paper to the table and strode over to the wall. "I will call the base. They must abort that flight before the missiles get into North American airspace, or we will be standing toe to toe with Armageddon."

But when he punched in the number for the control room at Tiksi, the only answer was a long, uninterrupted series of rings.

##

The flight of missiles came in over the Pole. As they crossed the Amundsen Gulf they started to fan out.

Along the D.E.W. line, the Hellbore platoons were milling like kicked anthills, but with highly-focused purpose. Radar images and long-range scans tracked the ICBM's, feeding the vital information to the guidance systems for the massive particle-beam arrays. As each fiery spark came in range, the cannons would track it, three or four or five of them blasting at once. Then the soldiers would quickly decouple the spent primary core, eject it from the gun's mantle, and lever another of the multi-ton devices into place.

Ideally, the one-second burst of insanely-charged mesons would hit the missile along its body somewhere, rippling its skin, frying the electronics and rendering the warhead useless; and better than half the time, that's just what happened. The doomed projectile would go dark, start to wobble, and break apart in mid-air, the pieces falling to earth as shrapnel but doing no damage, given their location. In four of the missiles, the fuel tanks detonated. Because the explosion wasn't timed just right, the fissionable material in the warhead never reached critical mass, and although the stuff did get scattered over the landscape, there was no nuclear fireball.

But two of them slipped through. The twin vapor trails marking their passage streaked southward, veering apart somewhere over central Alberta.


	51. Chapter 51 Kitsune

Chapter Fifty-One

_[ [ Isn't there anything I can do? ] ]_

**[ [ Please do not interrupt. ] ]**

Leo, working feverishly, completed the last three connections, and clicked the case closed.

_[ [ So you got it? ] ]_

He/she placed the device into its slot on the utility belt she/he had taken from Leo's inert form, and strapped it on.

**[ [ Now we will see. ] ]**

Violet followed as well as she could while he formed a mathematical construct of the destination locus in his mind, but it didn't mean much to her. She'd struggled through her two semesters of calculus at CSU-S and thought of her passing grades in those classes as gifts. The stuff Leo dealt with almost as a reflex was over her head like the Astrodome.

He sent a mental signal to the device on her/his belt, there was an instant of extreme vertigo, and suddenly they were in total dark.

_[ [ What happened? Did it work? Where are we? ] ]_

**[ [ Be calm. ] ]**

He/she clapped sharply and a bank of overhead lights came on, illuminating a large and severely organized laboratory. Violet recognized it at once from some of the images she'd received from Leo.

_[ [ It works! Great! Let's go help! ] ]_

**[ [ Wait, please. I do not wish to go blindly**  
**blundering into a situation about which I**  
**know nothing. We should check the facts first. ] ]**

_[ [ Oh. Okay. That's sensible, I guess. How do you  
__want to go about getting that sort of intel, though? ] ]_

Leo walked her/them/him over to his recliner and lay down in it.

**[ [ I believe your expression would be**  
**"hold on tight". ] ]**

_[ [ Hold on? To what? What are you … ] ]_

The slide over into the silvery Otherwhere was altogether too abrupt for Violet's taste. If she'd not had a cozy berth in his mind, she might have been frightened.

_[ [ What in the world is this place? ] ]_

**[ [ Not a place in this world. I am not sure**  
**just what or where this is, but it allows**  
**me to do something akin to astral projection.**  
**Here, I can travel anywhere. ] ]**

Violet tried to allow herself to soak up her surroundings. Very little of what she was getting made any sense.

_[ [ Which way is up? ] ]_

**[ [ I have no idea. Gravity doesn't seem to**  
**exist here, so I don't imagine the concept of**  
**'up' does either. ] ]**

_[ [ Screwy. ] ]_

**[ [ That sums it up, yes. ] ]**

Violet gave the mental equivalent of a frown.

_[ [ What's that? ] ]_

**[ [ What do you mean? ] ]**

_[ [ That … that voice or … sound or something …  
__whatever it is … it's so … lovely … ] ]_

Leo/Violet 'turned' and 'approached' the trilling call.

_[ [ … So … unbelievably … beautiful … ] ]_

**[ [ Yes, it is. Violet, there is someone here**  
**I would like for you to meet. ] ]**

He/they/she followed the impulse for a bit and then 'settled'.

_**I WELCOME YOU, CHILDREN**_

**[ [ Hello again, Kitsune … I hope you do not mind,**  
**but I have a visitor with me. ] ]**

Violet couldn't form one single coherent thought. The stark, limitless power in that simple greeting robbed her of intellect. All around her, and beside her, and through her it flowed, questing and seeking and finding …

**[ [ Violet? ] ]**

_**SHE IS DISTRESSED …**_

_**WAIT A MOMENT**_

Leo could not see what Kitsune did then, but suddenly there was a soft mat of quilted silk between them, and the Japanese super had assumed her human appearance. That brought Violet back around.

_[ [ … Who … who are you? Leo, who is she? ] ]_

**[ [ She is Kitsune, a super from Japan. ] ]**

_**NOW, CHILD, SIT …**_

_**WE MUST SPEAK**_

Violet realized that she _could_ sit on the mat, and made herself a place upon it, folding her legs underneath her.

**[ [ Violet? How are you doing that? ] ]**

_[ [ How am I doing what? ] ]_

**[ [ Sitting. I didn't think … ] ]**

_**PLEASE, BROTHER, BE NOT CONCERNED … **_

_**YOU WILL SEE ODD THINGS TODAY … **_

_**COME, SIT WITH US**_

And Leo found that he could.

**[ [ I don't understand. For the first time I**  
**am sensing an apparent 'up' and 'down'. ] ]**

_**I WANTED TO EASE HER MIND …**_

_**I ALTERED REALITY HERE **_

_**TO MATCH HER FRAME OF REFERENCE**_

_[ [ Altered … reality? Excuse me? ] ]_

_**THAT WOULD TAKE TOO LONG TO EXPLAIN …**_

_**WE DO NOT HAVE MUCH TIME …**_

_**THAT NUCLEAR EXPLOSION WAS THE DEMON'S DOING …**_

_**THERE ARE MISSILES FLYING NOW **_

_**TO NORTH AMERICA IN RETALIATION …**_

_**YOU MUST STOP THEM**_

_[ [ Who? … Me? ] ]_

_**YES …**_

_**LEONID CAN TAKE YOU THERE …**_

_**YOU MUST GO NOW …**_

_**HELP EACH OTHER AS YOU MAY**_

Instantly they were streaking through the glowing null-space. Violet struggled valiantly to keep up with events as they unreeled, but she seemed to have missed the meeting where the script was passed out.

_[ [ Ah … Leo, can you … tell me … ] ]_

**[ [ Tell you what? ] ]**

_[ [ She said … she altered reality. ] ]_

**[ [ Yes. That is what she said. ] ]**

_[ [ How does one go about 'altering' reality? If it's  
__reality, isn't it … I dunno … fixed or something? ] ]_

**[ [ I do not know. My information concerning**  
**Kitsune is, to say the least, incomplete. ] ]**

_[ [ But … that makes no sense at all! ] ]_

**[ [ What makes no sense? ] ]**

_[ [ If she can play with time and space and stuff,  
__why didn't she just stop the missiles herself?  
__Or keep 'em from being launched in the first place? ] ]_

**[ [ Her sphere of influence is limited to Japan.**  
**She told me that. ] ]**

_[ [ Oh. … Well, where'd you meet her? ] ]_

**[ [ I answered her call, as did you. ] ]**

After they traveled for a time, her perception of their 'motion' changed. Leo seemed to be laboring for some reason.

_[ [ You're slowing down. Is something wrong? ] ]_

**[ [ Not … used to this much … travel.**  
**Never been … this far … from my body …**  
**before. It is as if I am … losing contact …**  
**getting … thin … losing power somehow …**  
**but there is no time … to go back … ] ]**

_[ [ Can I help? ] ]_

**[ [ I do not … know. What can you do? ] ]**

_[ [ Beats me. But Kitsune said we should  
__help each other. What do you need? ] ]_

**[ [ I … I never … thought about it … before.**  
**I suppose … if I were stronger … had better**  
**control … I do not know … it is … getting**  
**difficult … to think … ] ]**

_[ [ Okay, just hold tight. Lemme try something … ] ]_

##

A constant buzz of rapid-fire communications and orders blanketed the war room. The techs and the tacticians kept their fingers flying over their control boards, urged on by the tense knowledge that if they screwed up, millions would die. The crew chief, an Air Force colonel and former fighter pilot, directed his men like a symphony conductor.

"Current ETA to NORAD intercept?"

"One minute, fifteen on my mark … _mark!_"

"They won't make it."

"Sir, Blue Team is airborne."

"About time. Patch the missile's position over to their nav-coms."

"Aye, sir."

"Current speed?"

"Two-four-three-six-oh, both birds at burnout, descending."

Helen and Synapse sat off to the side with the President, the three of them feeling equally useless.

"Course headings?"

As the radar tech rattled off a string of numbers, his colonel's mouth drew into a grim line. Synapse swallowed and said, "Houston. And L.A."

Joseph thought for a moment and observed, "That flight came in over the Northwest Territories. If they're both from the same location, the L.A. missile will get there first."

"Yeh. The colonel jest figgered that out." She gulped a quick breath and continued, "He ain't got anythin' to put in its way, jet-wise. Nothin' close enough."

"No ABM's? Why'd we sink a billion and a half into that program if they aren't any good?"

Synapse concentrated briefly and gave a shiver. "Yeh. He's wonderin' that same thing. We don't have none out west yet, just a few along th' east coast an' some more here. He's gonna try th' Hellbore battery at th' Presidio."

"That's a long way out of the flight path."

"He knows that, too."

"How long do we have?"

"Couple minutes. Two and a half, maybe. They're warmin' it up now."

Joseph closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the concrete. "And there's no way to warn them. Either we stop it, or in a little over three minutes, Los Angeles ceases to exist."

##

Violet concentrated on his mind. She knew there wasn't a nervous system to examine, as there had been with Ivan, but maybe if she could just get a good picture of …

Yes. There it was.

_[ [ Leo, I'm gonna see if I can hook  
__myself up with your grid. ] ]_

**[ [ What do … you mean? ] ]**

_[ [ I'll be your very own little battery pack. ] ]_

**[ [ No! Do not do anything … that would …**  
**put yourself … in danger! ] ]**

_[ [ Hush. This is what I mean. ] ]_

It was like holding him, as if she were cupping her hands around his mind and lifting him up. Fumbling a bit with the novelty, she channeled her energy into his psyche, bonding and melding and weaving their minds together to give him free access to it … and the spillways opened.

The link grew firm. Leo foundered no more. From a man beaten and half-drowned and starved, with hardly enough volition to move a finger, suddenly his fatigue vanished. His perception of this plane was magnified twenty-fold. He knew, instantly, where they needed to be, and flashed to that point in but a thought.

**[ [ How did you do that? ] ]**

_[ [ There. All better now, right? ] ]_

**[ [ Better? This is overwhelming! The**  
**power! You have no idea! I never … ] ]**

_[ [ That's great and all, but don't you  
__have a rocket to find? ] ]_

**[ [ Yes. There … ] ]**

##

Helen's mind raced in circles. "If we could contact Firefox, then we could link him up to the monitor cameras and he could knock it out."

"What cameras?" Joseph's head swiveled to face her. She thought he looked as if he'd aged a decade in the last few minutes. "We've got radar, but that's all. We don't _have_ any cameras that could track that thing. It's too fast."

"But there must be _something_ we can do!"

"If you're a praying woman, I'd suggest that."

Synapse put in, "_You_ don't never pray. You ain't even sure they's anybody listenin'."

"That may be true. But right this minute I'll take whatever I can get."

The room grew very quiet. They waited, stretched taut, for the next two minutes while the Hellbore crew prepared to sight in on the rocket.

Presently one of the techs announced, "Presidio has the lock."

Joseph took a hand each from the women beside him and held on tight, hope and dread doing battle across his face.

"Firing battery one … firing battery two."

Silence held for the space of five seconds.

The tech said, "Say again … roger, we confirm … yes, sir." Shoulders slumping, he turned to the colonel and said, "They missed, sir. It's still on track for L.A."

Joseph rested his forehead on both fists for a moment and then raised his haggard face. "Colonel?"

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Prepare Countermeasure Response Epsilon."

The man stood suddenly straighter and his eyes widened a fraction, but he didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir."

Synapse was giving him a look, as if she thought she hadn't heard right. "Joey? What're you doin'?"

"Amethyst, please don't make this any harder," he pleaded. "I'm doing what I _have_ to do. We don't have a limitless supply of primaries for the Hellbores, and even at that two missiles out of fifteen made it through. That's a lousy percentage, even when you're _not_ talking about millions of lives. We're about to lose one of our major cities, maybe two. The Soviet has enough missiles to do that another thirty times if they feel like it. As Commander-in-Chief, I can't let that go unanswered."

The young super stared intently into those bleak eyes, and then leaned over against his arm, taking possession of it. "I'm so sorry, Joey. You oughtn't have t' do this."

"I know. I hate it."

The colonel said, "Sergeant, what's the ETA to L.A.?"

"Forty seconds on my mark, sir … _mark!_"

"Send Ready Code Charlie-three-one-three-Zulu-niner-Tango to silo stations Fourteen, Twenty-One, and Forty-Five."

"Code entered … code sent … confirmation, sir."

"Stand by for firing sequence."

"Roger."

"Are the jets in position over Houston?"

"No, sir."

"… Say again?"

"The jets are a hundred-thirty seconds out, sir."

"… And the missile?"

"About twenty seconds ahead of them, sir."

Across the room, Joseph swore softly.


	52. Chapter 52 Confusion

Chapter Fifty-Two

As Violet/Leo floated in the Otherwhere, Los Angeles spread out 'below' them. They didn't so much see the city itself as they picked up the millions of minds, scattered over the land and gathered into the buildings in masses, twinkling like so much diamond dust.

The rocket was yet distant, but Leo knew that it would be set for an atmospheric detonation, probably some three to five hundred meters up; it was approaching with hellish speed.

**[ [ Can you see it? ] ]**

_[ [ Sure. Just let me … ] ]_

She reached toward the missile with a field, extending it out and out effortlessly. But she couldn't seem to get close enough to it to grasp it.

_[ [ Something's wrong! ] ]_

**[ [ You must reach beyond the veil,**  
**to our own reality. ] ]**

_[ [ Uh … how do I do that? ] ]_

**[ [ Follow my lead. ] ]**

With his perceptions guiding her she speared forward, found an opening. Breaching the planar interface, she shot out her field, wrapped the speeding thing in an impenetrable blanket and then crushed it with everything she had. The ICBM collapsed nearly to a point mass. Letting the field energies dissipate, she and Leo watched in fascination as the microscopic, blue-hot sphere hurtled to earth, striking deep, deep into the ground.

_[ [ Okay, that was pretty cool. ] ]_

**[ [ I agree. ] ]**

##

One of the techs observed, "Well at least we're far enough away that the EMP won't knock out our comms."

"Yeah," answered his neighbor. "It'll toast Presidio, though."

The colonel said, "I'm sorry, Mr. President. Looks like we're going to lose Houston, too."

"How … how long until the L.A. detonation?"

The colonel turned a questioning eye to the man at the control board, who responded, "Missile will reach L.A. in …" He put a hand to the earpiece. "Say again, Presidio?"

Joseph sat up. "What is it?"

"_Lost_ it?" The tech's face twisted in agitation. "How can you _lose_ an ICBM?"

The colonel came and leaned over the tech's shoulder. "Status, sergeant!"

"Sir, the missile has vanished."

"… You wanna tell me what you mean by that, sergeant?"

"Sir, you know as much as I do. The tracking station says the missile disappeared. It's gone. Vanished. Like somebody threw a breaker."

"No explosion?"

"No sir."

Joseph got up and walked over to the control center. Addressing the colonel, he asked, "Do I understand correctly that we still have Los Angeles?"

"Yes, Mr. President. Apparently the missile was inoperable."

"Thank God!"

"Yes, sir. And at this point I wouldn't rule out divine intervention."

Joseph glanced over at Synapse, a fierce light in his eyes. She giggled and said, "You jus' might turn into a prayin' man after all."

He swung back to the control console and strode over to the tech. "So are you telling me there's an un-detonated ICBM on the ground somewhere in L.A.?"

"Sir, I only know what they tell me. There was no explosion. Now there's no missile." He listened to the commlink again. "Sir, per Presidio's description, it didn't drop below the radar. It was still nearly sixty klicks out. It just disappeared."

Joseph stepped over to the tech who was monitoring communications with the Houston contingent. "Are those jets running full afterburners?"

"They are, sir."

"Are they tracking the missile?"

"… Yes, sir. But they aren't close enough to initiate a lock."

"How long?"

"Maybe another thirty seconds. Maybe twenty. This one has a much steeper ballistic than the first one. The fighters are climbing to try to meet it sooner."

Synapse had her eyes closed and was muttering under her breath.

##

Leo/Violet tracked the progress of the rocket-cum-nano-sphere as it penetrated to a layer of hard bedrock that barely slowed its descent.

_[ [ That won't, like, turn into a black hole  
__and eat the planet, will it? ] ]_

**[ [ Hardly. Even considering that you nearly**  
**compressed the rocket into neutronium, it**  
**has insufficient mass to generate an event**  
**horizon. ] ]**

_[ [ Uh … yeah, okay. What you said. ] ]_

**[ [ The next missile is that way. ] ]**

And with a nudge that seemed to Leo to take hardly any effort, they were in Houston. They looked around for the rocket, spotting it coming down almost 'overhead'.

**[ [ It is close. ] ]**

_[ [ Let me get positioned! ] ]_

**[ [ Do not be slow. It is almost here. ] ]**

_[ [ I'm not! There's something different  
__about that joint thingy! _

**[ [ What? ] ]**

_[ [ That angle-link thingy between the planes here!  
__I can't get it to move! ] ]_

Leo guided her mind again, sensed the variation she had felt, and helped her to correct for it.

_[ [ Thanks, Leo. You're a peach. ] ]_

His good humor at her response broadcast clearly.

_[ [ Hey! Don't laugh at me! I'm really new at this. ] ]_

**[ [ I am not laughing at you, Violet. In fact I  
****am astounded at how well you are adapting  
****to these very unusual circumstances. Now,  
****follow this path … ] ]**

She reached through again. Both of them noticed the phalanx of fighter jets that were racing to intercept the missile, could see the air-to-air rockets they'd fired to knock it down, but could see as well that they would be too late. She enveloped the ICBM and …

It detonated.

##

"We have a visual."

"Can they do it?"

"Wing Commander has a lock …"

"Come on!"

"Firing Matadors … One … Two … Three … Four."

"Come on!"

Six harrowing seconds later, the tech frowned. "No copy. Say again."

Helen snapped over to stand beside Joseph. "What is it?"

The tech listened intently for several seconds. "So did you hit it or not?"

The colonel fired off a rapid series of commands to two other techs. Then he turned to Joseph and said, "It turns out they've got cameras in two of those jets. I'm patching through a video feed."

A monitor on the wall blinked to life and every eye in the room stared in utter confusion.

##

The weird dynamics of the Otherwhere skewed her frame of reference, but even so she knew instantly what had happened. Her field stretched enormously, puffing to over three hundred meters across before she could halt its expansion. She felt the unbelievably violent pressure on the inner surface of the force bubble, and noted with amazement the super-solar heat levels. The comparison between this bomb and the wild energies she'd handled at that warehouse in San Francisco was unavoidable. The difference this time was the lack of any significant strain on her system. With a thought, she shrank the sphere down to a few meters across; already she had reflexively tweaked it so that it would be opaque to radiation. The ease with which she accomplished these tasks astonished her. Leo was just as delighted.

**[ [ That was very impressive. ] ]**

_[ [ Ya know, I think I'll have to agree with you.  
__But we still have a problem. ] ]_

**[ [ Yes. What to do with it now?**  
**You can't release the field. ] ]**

_[ [ Got that right. It'd be no different  
__from the original explosion. ] ]_

##

The colonel recovered first. "What the _hell_ is that thing?"

The two camera-equipped jets took up a long, slow loop around the black ball.

Joseph asked, "Mrs. Incredible, have you seen any sort of weapon like that before?"

"I … think …" She studied the tableau intently. Something about the sphere was definitely making the back of her mind itch.

##

A series of air-to-air warheads had impacted the field in the instant following detonation. The fighter jets had all banked away sharply to avoid the blast that never came. They'd turned and were now circling it, obviously very confused by the large sphere of sparkling darkness that was just hanging in the air high over downtown. Leo could pick up a few of their thoughts, and chuckled.

**[ [ Is it causing you any strain at all to handle**  
**that thing? ] ]**

_[ [ Not that I can tell. ] ]_

**[ [ In that case, why not just throw it out of**  
**the atmosphere? ] ]**

_[ [ … That's a __great__ idea! ] ]_

No sooner thought than executed. She launched the black ball straight up, and put as heavy a shove behind it as she could muster. It winked out of sight instantly.

##

When the ball vanished, a welter of questions filled the air.

"Whoa! Where'd it go?"

"Was that the missile?"

"How could that'a been the missile?"

"You get a radar history?"

"Was it destroyed?"

"Houston Command, do you copy?"

"Major Andrews, can you see the bogey?"

"Does anyone still have a lock on it?"

"Holy cripes! Look at that velocity vector!"

Helen flicked over to the tech in charge of the video feed. "Did you record that?"

"Yes, ma'am. You want a playback?"

"Please."

She watched on the big monitor as the missile streaked toward Houston, a twinkling dot high in the air; followed the smoke trails from the rockets the jets had fired; stared intently as they closed on their target.

"Stop! Back it up a few seconds, and then step forward, one frame at a time."

The ICBM had been falling at close to seven kilometers per second. If the jets hadn't been climbing at such a high angle, the cameras wouldn't have had any chance of tracking it. As it was, the dot had grown _very_ quickly to something with a perceptible shape.

"There! Right there."

The jets' cameras, being designed for use at battle speeds, were set to record at one hundred and twenty frames per second. Helen worked that out in her head to something over fifty meters of distance covered per frame. At this point, with the jets' rockets better than halfway to their target, and the planes beginning to veer away, the ICBM was drifting into the lower left quarter of the screen. In the previous frame the missile was clearly visible. In this frame, it was outlined with a faint, sparkling glow.

"Okay, click it forward. I gotta see this."

He did, advancing at one frame a second. The spherical glow grew marginally brighter over the next couple dozen frames. Just as the image finished drifting out of view, the camera's receiver overloaded to white and shut off.

The colonel put a hand on Joseph's shoulder. "My God! It _did_ explode!"

"So it would seem. Why, then, do we still have Houston?"

Helen said, "I believe I can tell you that."

Several faces turned her way. She continued, "That glow was a force field."

"… force field?" Joseph's brow furrowed in confusion. "How did it get there?"

"I don't know. But I've been around 'em enough times to recognize it for what it is." She stretched a hand down to the control console and backed up the sequence until the missile was in view again, then expanded that portion of the screen for a closer look. "That is what Shield's force sphere looks like. So either she did it, or someone else has been able to copy it … which I doubt."

"But … ma'am," objected the tech, "there's nobody in the picture. Nobody around to _put_ the field there."

"I know. That's her field, though. I'm sure of it."

The colonel was mightily interested in this development. "What about the black ball?" He tapped the tech on the arm. "Sergeant, go forward to where the fighters were circling that ball."

"Yes, sir." He tapped furiously at the keys. The dark sphere centered on the screen. A few more taps brought up the view from the second jet.

Helen squinted at both of them and nodded. "As I thought. That's what Shield's force field looks like when she polarizes it. She must have done it to prevent radiation leakage."

"So where is she?" the colonel wanted to know.

"I have no idea. That part of the puzzle is new."

One of the techs on the comm board stood and quickly trotted over to Joseph. "Mr. President, sir? There's a call for you, sir." He passed the older man a headset.

Joseph frowned. "Who is it?" He knew that it would take a major security effort to even attempt that sort of contact with the war room.

"The Soviet Premier, sir."

All other conversations ceased as the others in the room turned at the news. Joseph paused, staring at the device in his hand for the space of a few breaths, his expression neutral. Then, without a word, he placed it on his head. "This is President Brandt."

"Anatoly Turchin. I must explain. It was mistake. Please to not send missiles. We do not wish a war. There was malfunction at missile base."

Several seconds died away in silence. The Premier cleared his throat and said, "Is good connection of telephone? You can hear, yes?"

"Yes."

"Was there … much damage?"

Joseph could hear the slight tremor in that question. Quietly, he answered, "No."

The Premier's heavy sigh echoed in the headset. "I am so glad. So very, very glad." Again, he said, "We do not want war."

"Gospodin Premier … if I may be so bold as to ask, given that your nation truly doesn't want to engage in warfare, why did you refuse to take my calls over the past several days?"

"Ah … yes, is very good question …" The Premier, in his own war room, surrounded by frantic, frenzied military officers, nervously watched a monitor that commanded a prominent place on the wall. It showed the locations of many of the NAU's ICBM silo emplacements. Three of them were blinking red. Anatoly fervently hoped that he could turn them back to the yellow they had shown in recent days … or, possibly, even to green. "Is very interesting story, you see. I am sure we will look back in time and have large laugh."

"Somehow I doubt that. But I _**am**_ interested in the details."

"Yes, of course. Was this way …"


	53. Chapter 53 Epilogue

Epilogue

_(Six weeks later)_

Late summer in Moscow could be quite the advertisement if it wanted to; this season was turning out to be especially appealing. The buildings downtown all but emptied each day at lunch, as everyone from the lowliest workers to well-placed Party officials scurried out to the parks to take advantage of the warm sun and fresh breezes. Those who could took their work outside to begin with and found a comfortable spot under a tree somewhere.

But Piotr Kreshcheyev wasn't to be numbered among them today. His room at this satellite office for the NAU Embassy had no windows, a feature he'd requested both to increase security and to eliminate one avenue of distraction. Since arriving, he had passed the early morning by balancing pencils on the backs of his fingers, a habit he had when there was a lot on his mind and he needed some time to mull things over. He'd gotten three to hold steady a few times, but had yet to coax the last one into place. He was in the middle of his sixth attempt when his door opened and Violet walked in.

He started slightly and the pencils clattered to his desk.

"I'm sorry, Piotr! Didn't mean to make you jump."

"It is not a problem." He interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them. "You have the reports?"

"Right here." She patted the thick document in the crook of her arm and plopped it down on his desk. "Everything you ever wanted to know about what the secret police _didn't_ find at the embassy."

"Thank you." He eyed the binder but made no move to pick it up.

She cocked her head to the side and gave him the once-over. "Somethin' got you down?"

He raised his eyes to hers. "I beg your pardon?"

"You look like your dog died."

"Ah." He leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh. "It is nothing. I was only thinking about Leonid Bolodnikov."

"Oh." She suppressed a frustrated sigh of her own as she bobbed her head in a short nod. "Yeah, that was a shame."

"A shame? Yes, to say the least. Also a tragedy … and a missed opportunity. His death is a monumental loss to our world." He shook his head in frustrated disgust. "Actual machine-driven teleportation? A super-computer no bigger than a roll of antacid tablets? What a terrible, terrible waste."

"Yeah …" Violet had heard this spiel many times before and searched for a way to change the subject. "Say, have you heard anything back from the Japanese supers?"

"What?"

"You know. You said you you'd sent a delegation, to see if they could talk to that super that helped me out. Did you get in touch with her?"

"Hmph. No. They returned Tuesday. They never got to see anyone connected with Japan's supers. They could not get anyone who worked with the Diet to admit Japan even _had_ supers."

"Huh. I guess she didn't want visitors."

Piotr shook his head but didn't reply.

"Oh, cheer up Piotr! It's not _all_ bad. The Demon's gone. That guy who killed your supers is gone. Trouble's gonna be back in action in another month. You picked up some cool tech from Achmedjan's headquarters, and about a zillion leads to other mobs."

"And we lost a community of over six hundred souls to Achmedjan's madness."

"Yes, you did. And I'm sorry about that. But you dodged the nuclear bullet with the NAU, and your Premier and our President are communicating better than they ever have before. You had a major role in that, and they both know it. On balance, I'd say you came out smelling like a rose."

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, I cannot help a few regrets over what we might have gained, had Bolodnikov lived."

"Well, I can't deny that. Have you found his base yet?"

"A few possibilities. We found four different complexes that traced their ownership back to Ivan Bolodnikov. The man had extensive resources, and any one of those could have served as his brother's lab. But there was nothing out of the ordinary in any of them. No notes. No prototypes. No unusual components. It is very frustrating." He tapped his knuckles on the desk. "If things had turned out just a tiny bit different at any of several points, he might have lived. If Achmedjan had not grabbed Leonid as the device activated, or if Dash had not been disabled in fighting Ivan, or if you had not run into Achmedjan when you did …"

"Oh, sure, rub it in."

"I am sorry. There was no way you could have known how that battle would go. And I should have told you what we knew of Ivan."

"Yeah, maybe so. But then you'd have to tell me _how_ you knew, and that woulda been awkward."

"I suppose we can all share the blame in some way."

"I hear hindsight is like that. We can learn a lot from the mistakes we made, but we shouldn't beat ourselves up either."

"I suppose I must accept that." He reached over and picked up the folder.

Violet said, "So … if you don't need me for anything, I've got some more cross-referencing to do."

He looked up and focused on her face. "Do you? Why?"

"Uh … it's my job? Just a guess, but since that's what the Embassy's paying me for, they might like it if I took it seriously at least _some_ of the time."

He shook his head in mild amusement. "I would think, given your status as one of the top supers of your country, that you would find this post to be … beneath you."

"Oh, heck no. After all we went through to get rid of Achmedjan, this feels more like an extended vacation than a work assignment." She raised one shoulder in a small shrug. "I'm available if the Team really needs me. But Dash is back at school, and, um, Mr. and Mrs. Incredible are in Scotland."

"What is wrong in Scotland? I haven't heard …"

"Nothing's wrong. They're on vacation."

"… Vacation?"

"Yeah. Mr. Incredible is on the mend, but he's got a ways to go before he'll trust himself on a mission. They're spending the time together while he recuperates."

"Oh." That news seemed to depress him, for some reason Violet couldn't grasp.

"So … are we done?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, of course." He cleared his throat and said, "До скорой встречи."

She squinted for a second, then smiled and responded, "До завтра."

He nodded in approval. "You are coming along."

She tossed a "Thanks" back over her shoulder as she stepped out of the room.

Violet could have used one of the Embassy ground cars to whisk her the few blocks over to the main building, but it was such a nice day she walked up to the roof instead. Getting her bearings, she went invisible, formed a force plane against the roof, and shot herself into the air. Twelve seconds later, after a couple of very long modified pole-vaults, she reversed the process and landed lightly on a terrazzo path that wound through the small garden at the Embassy's rear. She walked up to the door and shed her invisibility so the retinal scanner could identify her. Less than two minutes later she was back in the records room.

Many people in her position (and the vast majority of supers, they being an antsy lot) would have found the work tedious. But she looked at it as a chance to rest her brain, and after what she'd been through over the last few weeks, she thought she deserved it. So she tackled the stack of files and worked steadily down through them.

There were but two folders left on the table when she got an odd itch at the back of her head that caused her to sit up excitedly. With a bright smile growing, she hurriedly finished her task, locked the file cabinet, and exited the storage room, locking it as well. Then she trotted quickly down the long hall toward the servants' entrance. The small foyer there was one of the few places in the building that was not under electronic surveillance. Checking to make sure that no one was there, she placed her fingertips on four unremarkable contact points on her utility belt, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

There was an instant of disorientation, but when her vision cleared, she could see delicate rice paper walls. The room was fairly small, maybe five meters square and very sparingly appointed. A large lacquered vase sat on either side of the doorway she faced; behind her stood a tall screen, exquisitely painted with a stylized landscape where blossoming cherry trees featured prominently. Thin bamboo hangings over the two windows to her left and right rustled in a warm, misty breeze. Otherwise, the room was empty.

She stepped quickly to the door and ran outside. To the south, Mount Fuji was just barely visible through the lacy vapor. A narrow but well-kept path led down the hillside and up its neighbor, and she followed it eagerly, soon coming within sight of a much larger building.

This elegant structure gave one the feeling that it had not so much been built as _grown_ out of the hill. Two stories high, three in places, the warm wooden walls and broad stone stairways followed the gentle contours of the hilltop in delightful and natural dips and rises, its mossy, tiled roof winding or retreating with the canopy of trees. She was perhaps fifteen meters from the wide door when Leo stepped outside, a grin threatening to bisect his head. Forming a small plane of force against the ground, she launched herself the remaining distance and landed in his arms. Wrapped in one another's embrace, they shared a lingering kiss.

At length they paused for breath and she leaned back to look at him. "Seems your weight training is paying off."

"Thank you." He patted one bicep. "The schedule Kitsune has plotted for me is difficult, but she insists that a finely trained mind must be supported with a finely trained body."

"I _like_ that lady." She took one of his hands in hers, favoring him with a brilliant smile. "So what's the occasion?"

"Did you have a big breakfast?"

"Nah. Bagel and a glass of orange juice."

"Have you had lunch?"

"Uh-uh. I don't usually eat till early afternoon, and it's a quarter of eleven in Moscow. 'course you're seven hours ahead of me, so I guess it'd be suppertime here."

"Fairly soon. Come with me." He led her into the rambling structure that served as Kitsune's home base.

Violet glanced around and asked, "Is she here?"

"I do not think so. She said she needed to coordinate something with the other supers."

"Huh! This the first time that's happened since you've been here?"

"Yes."

"Must be big if she has to attend in person."

"I am not privy to details. All I do know is that since she got them all organized a dozen years ago, there has not been any crime to speak of in Japan."

Violet frowned. "Well, I knew their crime rate was low, but I never saw any statistics. What'd she do, get rid of all the bad guys?"

"I do not know her methods. I do know that there has not been a murder here in over seven years. Nor any other violent crime."

"Wait … _none?_ None at all?"

"None."

"No rape? No armed robbery? No assault?"

"None."

"Whoa." She went silent, thinking about the implications. "How's she do it?"

"You know of my gift of foresight?"

"Yeah. She got it, too?"

"I believe so. Although she has not told me very much, I have deduced that her ability far outstrips my own. I get hints. She knows certainties."

"Wow. That's a heck of a responsibility."

"Indeed. But I feel that she is up to the task."

Leo stopped in front of a delicate sliding door of rice paper, and turned to her with a smile. "Would you care to take dinner with me?"

Her expression mirrored his. "I'd love to."

She was impressed. He had prepared the dishes himself, a pleasing combination of sushi, steamed vegetables, long-grained sticky rice, and bite-sized bits of grilled meats. He served her, and they had a long and pleasant conversation over the meal.

Afterward, they wandered along the winding paths that traced out the hills in the area, discussing her duties at the Embassy, her family, and how she was settling in as the NAU's semi-permanent super-ambassador. Occasionally they would switch to Russian. Violet was picking up the language very quickly, an unsurprising result since her tutor could share her mind.

As dusk approached they ambled back to the main building, stopping in a small garden where they took a seat on a convenient bench. She leaned toward him and he met her halfway. Arms sliding around each other, they held on tightly as, by mutual assent, their psyches merged.

This melding was so much more intimate than any physical contact. She floated, completely at ease, in the warm pool of his mind.

_[ [ You mentioned certainties. ] ]_

**[ [ I did. Where Kitsune is concerned. ] ]**

_[ [ I think certainties are very nice. ] ]_

**[ [ I agree. ] ]**

_[ [ How do they do it? ] ]_

**[ [ Who? ] ]**

_[ [ Everyone else. The rest of the world, who  
__can't feel this, who can't know this. ] ]_

**[ [ I cannot say. Having shared your mind,**  
**knowing your feelings as surely as I do**  
**my own, is the most marvelous gift I could**  
**possibly imagine. ] ]**

_[ [ It is. I love you. And I know that you love me.  
__It isn't a façade, it isn't guesswork. I know it the  
__way I know the Earth spins, the way I know  
__a rock will fall if I drop it. It's a certainty. ] ]_

**[ [ Yes. In the realm of my love for you,**  
**mistrust is not possible.**  
**We are transparent to one another. ] ]**

_[ [ Oh, not a hundred percent transparent.  
__I don't know everything about you, nor do you of me.  
__But that will come with time.  
__And in the meanwhile, a little mystery can be fun. ] ]_

**[ [ I am glad you feel that way. ] ]**

He picked up a measure of amusement on her part which surprised him, and he asked,

**[ [ What is it? ] ]**

_[ [ Oh, nothing. Just had a thought about how  
__mysterious you are, and it struck me as funny. ] ]_

**[ [ How mysterious _I _am? My dear Violet,**  
**I am a man. Men are, by definition, not**  
**mysterious. Certainly not in your league. ] ]**

_[ [ You're a special case. ] ]_

**[ [ … Perhaps. ] ]**

She detected a bit of melancholy and asked,

_[ [ What's bothering you? ] ]_

**[ [ Well … I revel in the oneness, the**  
**melding of our spirits. It gives me a**  
**feeling of completion beyond anything I**  
**had previously imagined. ] ]**

_[ [ I hear a '… but ' on the end of that thought. ] ]_

**[ [ But, really, what will be left to discover**  
**after our wedding? ] ]**

_[ [ What do you mean? ] ]_

**[ [ We are already closer than any other**  
**two people on the planet. How will mere**  
**physical interaction improve on that? ] ]**

_[ [ Oh, is that all? ] ]_

**[ [ That 'all' might prove to be significant. ] ]**

_[ [ Heh! Baby, let me assure you that you  
__ain't seen nothin' yet. ] ]_

**[ [ What do you mean? ] ]**

_[ [ Well … think about it … you'll be inside my  
__head, and I'll be in yours, both of us experiencing  
__everything the other can feel when … well … you know.  
__Trust me, we won't get bored any time soon. ] ]_

He had not considered that; not in any respect. The implications shocked him to silence.

Violet gently pulled her mind away from his and he, regretfully, let her go. "Sweetie, I've got a meeting with the Ambassador this afternoon and I have to get ready for it."

"Of course."

"Thank you _so much_ for dinner. It was wonderful!"

"You are very welcome."

"Will you have any free time this weekend?"

"I will _make_ some free time." He leaned over and kissed her again, eliciting a small sigh of delight.

After they passed several more minutes in this lovely endeavor, he gave her a last hug and wished her a successful meeting. She stood, pressed the four contacts on her belt, and vanished.

He sat there on the low bench for a while, thinking about this dazzling woman who had completely upended his concept of himself, his work, and his life. As he sat in this comfortable haze of love and contentment, a voice sounded in his head.

[ [ Does she still not suspect? ] ]

He spoke aloud in response, "I cannot say."

[ [ She would give some sign if she did,  
don't you think? ] ]

"Possibly. But it would not surprise me in the least if she had already guessed the truth about you."

[ [ Surely not! ] ]

"It is a good possibility. Given her comments about my being so _mysterious_, I would say she certainly suspects something. Perhaps not you, specifically … but something."

[ [ I can't believe that. ] ]

"In any case we must tell her everything, and we must do so soon."

[ [ Not yet, please!  
I couldn't stand it if she …  
if she were to … ] ]

"She would not reject us just because I brought you along for the ride, Ivan. You know this."

[ [ I wish I could be as sure as you are. ] ]

"Really, brother, this indecision is not like you. You were always the firm one, so secure in your plans."

[ [ That, Leo, was before I fell in love. ] ]

"Love surely does make fools of us all, does it not?"

[ [ It does. But even through the lens of love,  
our Violet cannot fail to see  
how much I have to atone for. ] ]

"I think you underestimate her capacity for forgiveness."

_**MY CHILDREN …**_

'They' jumped up and answered in unison, "Yes, Kitsune!"

_**ARE YOU REFRESHED?**_

This time their response was more restrained. "Yes, Kitsune."

_**THEN LET US RESUME THE LESSON**_

Leo/Ivan walked quickly toward the building, but Kitsune stopped them with a word of caution.

_**NO, PRACTICE WHAT I SHOWED YOU …**_

_**COME IN AS YOU HAVE LEARNED TO DO TODAY**_

"Forgive us, Kitsune. We were thoughtless."

Leo/Ivan closed his eyes and centered himself. Then, slowly, he/they rose into the air a few centimeters. Opening his eyes and smiling in triumph, he/they floated serenely back inside, just ahead of the light rain that began to fall.

**The End**


End file.
